Red vs Blue: The Blood Gulch Chronicles: Season One
by Sanokal
Summary: Two armies are battling in the middle of a box canyon to control their opposing bases...or at least they would if they weren't completely incompetent. One thing's for sure though; those guys are a bunch of assholes. And don't even get them started on the other team. A novelization of the first season of Red vs. Blue: The Blood Gulch Chronicles. Also up on deviantart.
1. Why Are We Here?

**Red vs Blue: The Blood Gulch Chronicles**

 **Season One**

 _ **Author's notes:**_

 _I'm sure that this is of course redundant, but this novelization has simply been put together in my own time, on my own initiative, over the past two months (I probably could have done it in a month, but life). This novelization is going up on both and on the Rooster Teeth forums._

 _Red vs. Blue is an incredible work and I have nothing but utmost respect for the good folks at Rooster Teeth. As a result, if they request for this to be taken down then I shall do so; I merely had the urge to write this and wish to share it with people._

 _This novelization attempts both to capture the humour of the original as best the medium can and inject my own brand through continuity foreshadowing, assumptions, and monologues in a similar manner to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy._

 _Enough from me; I don't have the benefit of being as entertaining as the creators of Red vs. Blue. So I'll neuter any tangents and just shut up._

 _ **Why Are We Here?**_

Our story begins in a truly unremarkable canyon. So unremarkable in fact, that if anyone with too much time and money on his hands bothered to rent a Slipspace-capable starship and go on a tour of the galaxy for the most unremarkable canyon in existence, he would probably choose this one as the third most unremarkable canyon in all the known galaxy. The factors that keep it from being number one are the two bases that are emplaced at opposite ends of the canyon, while the factor that further keeps it from being number one is that these bases are occupied by some truly remarkable people.

Of course, when we say truly remarkable, we mean in terms of personality. While it is certainly remarkable that such people would be wearing MJOLNIR Mk V armour, the fact that the basic form is used by these individuals severely lessened their visual interest, especially in comparison to the legendary Master Chief.

Two of these individuals were currently on sentry duty. However, as this is an extremely unremarkable canyon, this inevitably meant that they suffered from the condition that was scientifically referred to as "sheer boredom".

One of these individuals was clad in orange armour, though one could be forgiven for mistaking it for yellow or gold. The second donned maroon armour, and despite the obvious colour difference, he handled the heat better than his companion. And as these soldiers were currently suffering from sheer boredom, they had nothing better to do then discuss the inane and the meaningless.  
The soldiers' names were Dexter Grif and Richard Simmons, known generally by their last names. Grif wore the orange armour, orange, mind you, and Simmons the maroon, a colour of both individuality and dedication to the Red Team.

"Hey," Simmons said, turning to his...friend.

 **"** Yeah?" his companion replied.

 **"** You ever wonder why we're here?" Simmons asked.

"It's one of life's great mysteries isn't it?" Grif asked in reply. "Why are we here? I mean, are we the product of some cosmic coincidence, or is there really a God watching everything? You know, with a plan for us and stuff." He turned and stared dramatically into the distance to punctuate the gravity of his statement. "I don't know, man, but it keeps me up at night," Grif admitted.

For a moment, there was silence in the canyon, silence not even broken by the usual background noise.

"...What?!" Simmons asked incredulously. "I mean why are we out here, in this canyon?" he explained.

Grif was struck by a feeling of embarrassment, the kind that is up there with soiling your pants in a combat situation or being turned down by a girl at the prom. "Oh. Uh... yeah," he uttered, attempting to compose himself.

"What was all that stuff about God?" Simmons asked curiously.

"Uh...hm? Nothing," Grif replied innocently.

Now, the two soldiers had known one another for a long time, so Simmons knew that Grif's excuses were bullshit. Not unkindly he asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," Grif replied casually.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Simmons accepted that. It was his friend's privacy after all, and in a place like this, one took it where they could get it. Backtracking to his original point, he asked, "Seriously though, why are we out here?" Now Simmons was staring dramatically out into the canyon, while also maintaining both a good look at Grif and a firm grip on his pistol. "As far as I can tell, it's just a box canyon in the middle of nowhere. No way in or out."

"Mm hmm."

"The only reason that we set up a Red Base here, is because they have a Blue Base over there. And the only reason they have a Blue Base over there, is because we have a Red Base here," Simmons explained patiently.

"Yeah. That's because we're fighting each other," Grif said apathetically.

Simmons shook his head; Grif was missing the point completely. "No, no," he said. "But I mean, even if we were to pull out today, and if they would come take our base, they would have _two_ bases in the middle of a box canyon." He shrugged. "Whoopdee-fucking-doo."

Much to his delight, the intelligent conversation had gotten Grif to start talking again. "What's up with that anyway?" Grif asked. "I mean, I signed on to fight some aliens. Next thing I know, Master Chief blows up the whole Covenant armada and I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere, fighting a bunch of blue guys."

You may remember that we have already mentioned the Master Chief. The Master Chief is a legendary hero in the UNSC Navy - the United Nations Space Command. He has earned every medal save the Prisoner-of-War medal, as the aliens don't take prisoners, nor does he allow them to take him prisoner. He is also sadly, completely inconsequential to this story, so his tale must wait for another time.

A tale that is _not_ inconsequential, however, despite the apparent normality of the individuals in this canyon, is that of the Blue Team soldiers. You may remember that Simmons had mentioned the Blue Base, and these two were the sole occupants (until recently) of that base.

Both of them were Private First Class, though Leonard Church led the team by default and garbed himself in cobalt armour. His companion Lavernius Tucker was currently suffering from the all too common syndrome of sheer boredom, and stood out like a sore thumb among the dirt in his aqua armour.

The two soldiers were currently engaged in espionage. Church was using the scope of his (currently empty) sniper rifle to determine what the enemy was discussing. Unfortunately for him, past experience and a somewhat decent set of ears were both informing him that the enemy was, as usual, talking about-

"What're they doing?" Tucker asked.

Church lowered his rifle, and he slowly turned around to face Tucker. **"** What?" he asked in aggravation.

"I said, 'What are they doing now?'" Tucker asked.

"God damn, I'm getting so sick of answering that question!" Church snapped in frustration.

"You have the fucking rifle, I can't see shit," Tucker replied defensively. "Don't start to bitch at me because I'm not gonna just sit up here and play with my di-"

Fortunately for both his sanity and ours, Church interrupted Tucker as quickly as he could. "Okay, okay, look... they're just standing there and talking, okay?" he said. Then he started to get angry again. "That's all they're doing. That's all they _ever_ do, is just stand there and talk. That's what they were doing last week, that's what they were doing when you asked me five minutes ago. So, five minutes from _now_ , when you ask me, 'What are they doing?' my answer's gonna be, 'They're still just talking, and they're still just standing there!'" he yelled.

For a few moments, there was silence. Sweet, sweet silence.  
Of course, it couldn't last.

"...What're they talking about?"

Church glared at Tucker from behind his visor. "...You know what? I fucking hate you," he groused.

Unlike Church, Grif and Simmons had neither the benefit of decent hearing, nor a sniper rifle, and thus they were unaware of their eavesdroppers.

"Talk about a waste of resources," Grif complained. "I mean, we should be out there finding new and intelligent forms of life... you know, fight them."

"Yeah, no shit," Simmons agreed. "That's why they should put us in charge."

"Ladies, front and centre on the double!" roared a deep Southern accent.

The owner of that Southern accent was a soldier patriotically clad in the traditional armour of the glorious Red Team, though it was often said that he would take any armour, even the dirty Blue, if it was painted red with the blood of his enemies. Of course, in a canyon where half the population always wanted to kill him and the other half were significantly apathetic, he was the only one who made such claims.  
He was the Staff Sergeant of the Red Team, based at Blood Gulch Outpost Number One, and his name was unknown even to his own men, but this was the Navy, so everyone just called him "Sarge".

Simmons' mind sifted through all of this information in the space of half a second and spat it out as a single word. "Fuck."

"Yes, sir!" Grif replied.


	2. Red Gets a Delivery

_**Red Gets a Delivery**_

With the intention to avoid being chastised too badly, Grif and Simmons hurried down the base to where Sarge was waiting by the dead tree.

Sadly, they were unsuccessful.

"Hurry up, ladies," Sarge snapped. "This ain't no ice cream social."

"Ice cream social?" Simmons asked in surprise, and he exchanged a look with Grif, hoping that the mention of food wouldn't distract him.  
Fortunately, Sarge interrupted them before Grif could voice any mention of the subject. "Stop the pillow talk, you two," he growled. "Anyone want to guess why I gathered you here today?"

"Uh, is it because the war's over and you're sending us home?" Grif asked hopefully.

Sarge's voice turned nasty. "That's exactly it, Private," he said, his accent rotted by the sarcasm. "War's over. We won. Turns out you're the _big_ hero and we're gonna hold a parade in your honour. I get to drive the float, and Simmons here IS IN CHARGE OF CONFETTI!"

After a moment of silence so thick that even the talkative Simmons didn't want to break, Grif replied, "I'm no stranger to sarcasm, sir."

"Goddamn it, Private!" Sarge roared. "Shut your mouth or else I'll have Simmons slit your throat while you're asleep!"

"Oh I'd do it, too," Simmons said with an edge in his voice that made Grif uncomfortable. Not an edge of murderous intent, but one of utter servitude.

"I know you would, Simmons. Good man," Sarge said proudly. He paused briefly to give Grif an inkling of just how utterly screwed he could be if Sarge decided to give the order.  
When Grif failed to react, largely owning to the fact that such death threats were all too common at Red Base, Sarge decided to get on with the meeting. "Couple of things today, ladies," he explained. "Command has seen fit to increase our ranks here at Blood Gulch Outpost Number One."

"Crap. We're getting a rookie," Grif groaned.

"That's right, dead man," Sarge commented. "Our new recruit will be here within the week, but today we received the first part of our shipment from Command."

Grif and Simmons both exchange looks as Sarge turned towards a hill behind them.

"Lopez, bring up the vehicle," Sarge ordered.

The vehicle coasted gracefully over the hill, an armour plated jeep with two seats and a massive machine turret mounted on the back. The driver's seat was occupied by Red Team's fourth soldier; the brown-armoured Lopez. Lopez was the strong and silent type; as in he did most of the heavy lifting, and he _never_ talked.

One thought went through Simmons and Grif's mind and spat itself out.  
"Shotgun!" Simmons yelled.

"Shotgun!" Grif yelled a second later. "Fuck."

"May I introduce our new, light reconnaissance vehicle," Sarge said proudly. "It has four inch armour plating, mag bumper suspension, a mounted machine gunner position, and total seating for three." He turned to his men dramatically, though they thought privately that he looked like a melting tomato. "Gentlemen, this is the M12 LRV! I like to call it the Warthog."

"Why Warthog, sir?" Simmons asked.

"Because M12 LRV is too hard to say in conversation, son," Sarge replied patiently.

"I know, but why Warthog?" Grif asked. "I mean, it doesn't really look like a pig."

Sarge looked at Grif in surprise. "Say that again."

"I think it looks more like a puma," Grif explained.

"What in Sam Hell is a puma?" Sarge asked in confusion.

"Uh, you mean like the shoe company?" Simmons asked.

"No, like a puma," Grif said. "It's a big cat, like a lion."

There was a brief pause as Sarge contemplated the wisdom in Grif's statement. As he assumed that there was none, he quickly replied, "You're making that up."

"I'm telling you, it's a real animal!" Grif protested.

"Simmons, I want you to poison Grif's next meal," Sarge ordered.

"Yes, sir!" Simmons replied.

Sarge gestured to the Warthog's front bumper with his pistol. "Look, see these two tow hooks? They look like tusks, and what kind of animal has tusks?"

"A walrus," Grif replied instantly.

"Didn't I just tell you to stop making up animals?!"

Although the argument was inaudible to any eavesdroppers, the presence of the Warthog/Puma stuck out even more than Tucker's armour did as he and Church kept an eye on the Red Team.

"What is that thing?" Tucker asked.

Now, unlike his previous questions, this turned out to be an entirely legitimate concern, so this time Church not only wasn't angry at the enquiry, he was as happy as he could be to answer it. He lowered his rifle to give his tired arms a rest. "I don't know, man," he admitted."Looks like uh... looks like they've got some sorta car down there. We'd better get back to base and report it."

"A car? How come they get a car?!" Tucker asked incredulously.

The moment passed, and now Church's temper was returning. "What are you complaining about, man? We're about to get a tank in the very next drop."

"You can't pick up chicks in a tank."

Church managed to keep himself from screaming, "What the fuck?!" and instead he went for a more lengthy tirade. "Oh, you know what? You could bitch about anything couldn't you?" he commented in disgust. "We're going to get a tank, and you're worried about chicks. What chicks are we gonna pick up, man?" he asked. "And secondly, how are you gonna pick up chicks in a car that looks like that?" he snapped, gesturing with the rife in the direction of Red Base. He made sure that he kept his finger off the trigger, though it wasn't likely that he'd have hit anything regardless even if he did have ammo.

Pacified for the time being, Tucker sighed. "What kind of car is it?" he asked.

Church was rather pleased that Tucker seemed to have dropped the subject, and he lifted the sniper rifle and peered through the scope. "I dunno, I've never seen a car like that before," he admitted. "It looks like a... uh... like a big cat of some kind."

"...What, like a puma?"

"Yeah, man, there you go."

As they often were, the Red Team were unaware of the eavesdropping Blue Team, and they continued to discuss the vehicle amongst themselves, or rather, Grif, Sarge and Simmons did, but Lopez simply watched the discussion without even the slightest reaction. Whether he agreed with any of his teammates or he simply thought that they were clods, he didn't say.

"So unless anybody has anymore mythical creatures to suggest as a name for the new vehicle, we're going to stick with the Warthog," Sarge said. He was in charge, and that meant that he made the rules, named the equipment, and chose who died. "How about it, Grif?" he asked with a sly grin that he knew couldn't be seen, but made him feel delightfully superior.

"No, sir. No more suggestions," Grif replied dejectedly.

"Are you sure?" Sarge asked. "How 'bout Bigfoot?"

 _Fuck,_ Grif thought. "It's okay," he said.

"Unicorn?" Sarge suggested.

"No really. Uh, I'm cool."

 **"** Sasquatch?"

"Leprechaun?" Simmons asked.

"Hey, he doesn't need any help, man," Grif protested.

"Phoenix?" Sarge suggested.

Grif sighed heavily. "Christ," he muttered.

Sarge suppressed a laugh, and he turned to Simmons." Hey Simmons, what's the name of that Mexican lizard?" he asked. "Eats all the goats."

Normally Simmons would have snapped a comment back at anyone who called him a Mexican, but this was Sarge, his glorious leader, so he indulged his request. "Uh, that would be the chupacabra, sir."

"Hey Grif, Chupathingy!" Sarge called. "How about that? I like it. Gotta ring to it."


	3. The Rookies

_**The Rookies**_

Life at Blood Gulch came and went. It had been a few days since the Warthog had arrived, and with Sarge insisting that they hold off testing the Vulcan turret, driving the vehicle around had soon gotten boring and begun to waste gas. Eventually both Sarge and Lopez had decided that enough was enough and ordered the two to leave the Warthog alone. Grif had actually agreed with this since he'd found it impressive that Lopez had gotten his point across without saying a single word, while Simmons had agreed because he was a kiss-ass.

Inevitably the two soldiers defaulted to their usual chats and arguments.

"Hey, that's not exactly what happened," Simmons protested.

"Yes, it is," Grif replied. "You said "I'm not going to the Vegas Quadrant," and then the next thing I know you're in an escape pod headed for-"

"Excuse me, uh, sirs," a voce asked politely.

The respectful address shocked Grif out of his apathy. "Sirs?" he asked in surprise, turning to the red-armoured soldier. "Ah crap."

The soldier ignored that last part. "I was told to report to Blood Gulch Outpost Number One and speak to whoever's in charge," he explained.

"Sorry man, Sarge is at Command getting orders. Ain't nobody in charge today," Grif replied.

"Actually, Private, he left me in charge while he's gone," Simmons replied with a sense of heightened authority in his voice.

"You are such a kiss-ass."

"Also, he told me if I had any trouble from you I should..." and he cleared his throat before giving a brief approximation of Sarge's Southern accent, "Git in the Warthog, and crush yer head like a tomato-can."

 _After you told us not to use it?_ , Grif thought. "That's the worst impression I've ever heard."

Simmons ignored him, a response that he had a lot of practice with. "Okay rookie, what's your story?" he asked.

"Private Donut reporting for duty, sir," the soldier declared. "I'm ready to fight some aliens."

Grif rolled his eyes. "Couple things here, rookie. First off, Private Donut? I think somebody needs a new nickname. Secondly, what's with the armour colour?"

"This IS the standard issue red," Donut pointed out.

"Yeah, I know," Grif said, before preparing himself for a lecture. "Listen. Only two kinds of people wear standard issue armour: officers and recruits. And since you're not threatening to gut me like a fish, you're probably not an officer." It was short and sweet, one of Grif's applicable talents to everything.

"Well, he's wearing red armour," Donut said, nodding at Simmons.

"No, my armour is maroon," Simmons replied curtly. "Your armour is red."

"Well, how do I get a different colour armour?" Donut asked.

Simmons sighed. "I bet the Blues don't have to put up with this kind of crap."

Now, Simmons was, by default, the most intelligent solider in Blood Gulch. He was good with computers, and he had a level head around weaponry of all kinds. He was even skilled at deducing plot twists. But for whatever reason, he failed to deduce that the Blue Team had received a vehicle and rookie drop too, despite it being obvious that the Commands were in a gruelling battle for control of the canyon, and that they watched each other's moves with eyes of iron and instincts of steel.

The rookie in question, one Michael Caboose, was currently describing his arrival at the Blue Team Base to his new superiors in an attempt to fit in. Like Donut, he was wearing standard-issue armour, but his was a brilliant blue that would have sent Sarge into shock if he was strapped into it, and into a rage at the mere sight. His story was falling on deaf ears, however, as Tucker and Church were entranced by the giant olive-armoured tank

"So I say to the guy, 'how're you gonna get the tank down to the planet?' And he goes, 'I'll just put it on the ship,' and I go, 'if you've got a ship that can carry a tank, why not just put guns on the ship and use it instead?'" he finished.

"Hey, kid," Tucker said as he and Church gazed at the armour-plated death machine.

"Yeah?" the rookie asked eagerly.

"You're ruining the moment," Tucker explained. "Shut up."

Eager to please, the rookie replied, "Oh. Okay. You got it man!"

Church had been ignoring them as he beheld the tank in all her splendid glory, but now he spoke. "You know what? I could blow up the whole god damn world with this thing," he said.  
It sounded profound. He thought it was profound.

"Okay, Private Donut, here's the deal," Simmons explained.

"I just refuse to call him Private Donut!" Grif snapped.

Simmons both ignored him and held back that "Shut up" that was tickling his mind. "We've got a very important mission for you. You think you can handle it?" he asked.

"Absolutely!" Donut said.

"We need you to go to the store, and get two quarts of elbow grease," Simmons explained casually.

"Yeah and uh, pick up some headlight fluid for the Puma too," Grif suggested.

"The what?" Donut asked.

"He means the Warthog," Simmons explained.

"You do know where the store is, right, rookie?" Grif said with an edge in his voice.

Faced with the peer pressure of authority, Donut yelped, "What? Yeah, yeah, of course I do. Sure, no problem."

"Well, get going then," Simmons ordered.

Private Franklin Delano Donut nodded, and he began to sprint across the top of the base.

"Other way," Grif said without missing a beat.

 _Uh-oh! They know!_ , Donut yelped internally. He turned around hurriedly and ran the other way. "I knew that," he said. "Just got turned around that's all."

Grif and Simmons watched Donut go, moving down the side ramp and running off into the depths of the Gulch.

"How long do you think until he figures out there's no store?" Simmons asked.

"I say... at least a week," Grif replied with a grin.

But as Donut ran through the Gulch, he stopped, and turned to talk to himself. "Elbow grease… How stupid do they think I am?" he asked. He shook his head in disgust. "Once I get back to base with that headlight fluid, I'm gonna talk to the Sergeant."

With no idea of the shenanigans going on at Red Base, Tucker and Church continued to gaze at the tank.

"You know what?" Tucker asked. "Forget what I said before. We can definitely pick up chicks in this thing. Probably two or three chicks a piece."

Church held back a sigh, but he couldn't hold back words of scorn. He'd been foolish enough to think that Tucker had forgotten all about this, but he supposed that Tucker was just having a dry spell. "Oh man, listen to you," he commented. "What're you gonna do with two chicks?" he asked in honest curiosity.

"Church, women are like Voltron: The more you can hook up, the better it gets," Tucker explained.

Church knew that Tucker was trying to sound wise, but he was doing a really, _really_ , shitty job of it.

Simmons and Grif stood on the edge of the roof of Red Base. Life was passing, as well as it ever did in Blood Gulch, and they still hadn't seen Donut.

It had been Simmons' idea, but now he was feeling a little bad. Now that he'd sent Donut off, he actually sympathized with the kid, which was probably why he'd thought of the prank in the first place. _Wow,_ he thought. _That was pretty messed up._ "You think that we were too mean to the kid?" he asked.

"Nah, he'll just wander around on the cliffs for a few hours," Grif replied. What's the worst that could happen?

Donut had been wandering around the canyon for ages, and he finally saw another building. "Finally, there it is..." he said wearily. Then he brightened up as he saw the wares. "Oh sweet! They sell tanks!" he commented.


	4. Head Noob in Charge

_**Head Noob in Charge**_

Oblivious to the incoming rookie, Church, Tucker, and Caboose were still standing by the tank. The sheer pride of having a _tank_ had slightly worn off and now Tucker and Church were talking normally again. Church was even in a _good_ mood for once, but having an all powerful death-machine at one's fingertips will do that.

"Yeah I'll let you in on a little secret, I've uh... I've actually got a girl back home," Church said.

Now, it should be mentioned that being deprived of women in combination with a very flirtatious personality in general had effectively turned Tucker into a rather perverted sex maniac. But even Tucker knew better than to antagonize Church in this manner and it would be such a pity to piss him off now that he was in a good mood.

So Tucker wisely kept any dirty thoughts in his head and he simply asked, "Oh yeah? Girlfriend or wife?"

"No, man, she's just my girlfriend, ya know?" Church explained. "We were gonna get married, but I got shipped out... ah, you know how it works."

"Oh, well, you gonna marry her when you get back?" Tucker asked.

"I'm not gonna get married," Caboose said cheerfully. "My dad always said, 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?'"

Church rounded on the rookie with more wrath than Tucker had ever seen him unleash. "Hey, rookie.. did you just call my girlfriend a cow?" he asked quietly.

 _Uh-oh, he's pissed_ , Tucker thought. "No, I think he called her a slut!" he suggested.

Church didn't really care either way; his girlfriend had been insulted, and that was all that he needed to hear. "I'll tell you what, noob, I could sit out here and listen to you insult my girlfriend all day long, but as it turns out, I got a lot more important job for you to do," he said.

Caboose winced. "Great."

"See, we've got this General," Church began.

"Right, the General guy," Tucker muttered.

 _Shut UP, Tucker,_ Church thought. "...who likes to come by and make random inspections of bases," Church finished. "So what I'm gonna have you do, is I'm gonna have you go in the base, and stand right next to the flag at attention, just in case he decides to come by."

"When is he coming by?" the rookie asked curiously.

Tucker had caught on properly by now. "We never know," he said. "Could be today, could be a week from now."

"You want me to stand at attention for a week?" Caboose asked in surprise.

"You know, you don't sound very grateful," Church observed. "This is the most important job at the whole base. You're gonna be right there with the flag."

"What's so important about the flag?" the rookie asked.

Church was quite surprised. "Oh, come on, don't they teach you guys anything in training?" he asked incredulously.

"They didn't tell us anything about a flag," Caboose said. "Why is it so important?

"Because it's the flag, man, you know, it's the f... it's the flag, it's... Tucker, you tell him why the flag is so important."

"Well... it's... it's complicated," Tucker said uncomfortably. "Uh... It's blue, we're blue."

"It's just important, okay?" Church said patiently. "Trust us. So when the General comes by, the first thing he's gonna want to do is inspect the flag."

"Right," Tucker said. Agreeing with Church was much easier than explanations.

 **"** So just go in there, you know, far away from us, and wait for him," Church told the hapless rookie.

If there was one thing that Caboose didn't want to do it was to piss Church of by disobeying a direct order, so Caboose turned and headed for the base. Then he realized something, and he stopped halfway and turned around. "Uh, how will I know when I see him?" he asked.

"There's only three of us out here, rookie," Tucker reminded Caboose. "He's gonna be the guy that doesn't look like one of us."

"Now get in there, and don't come out!" Church called as Caboose disappeared inside the base. He turned back to Tucker. "Man, that guy is dumber than you are," Church commented.

"You mean he's dumber than you are," Tucker replied without missing a beat.

"Wow, Tucker, that was a great come-back."

Behind them, Caboose emerged from the base again. "Uh, Mr. Church? Sir?" he called.

"Oh my god, WHAT!?" Church yelled at the rookie. He turned back to Tucker, fuming so badly that Tucker swore that he could feel it. "Tucker, I swear, I'm gonna kill him!" he hissed.

"Sorry about calling your girl a slut..." Caboose said.

"ROOKIE! SHUT UP!" Church screamed furiously. "JUST SHUT UP, YOU'RE DRIVING ME CRAZY, GET IN THERE!"

Tucker turned around, laughing so hard that he thought that he'd collapse with the giggles.

"Tucker, are you laughing at me?" Church asked angrily.  
The beauty of this method of conversation was that neither Church nor Tucker saw Donut step up behind them, since they would have killed the Red soldier as quickly as they could (admittedly it would have been a slow kill, if at all) had they known.

Of course as fate would have it, Donut didn't know this either and he fearlessly addressed the Blue Team soldiers. "Excuse me, sir, can I ask you a question?" he asked, of course, deciding to neglect to mention that he obviously _had_ asked a question.

Church was so pissed off that he didn't even turn to look at Donut. "Dear God in heaven, rookie, if I turn around, and you are not inside, I... I can't be held responsible for what I'm gonna do to you!" he yelled.

"What did I do?" poor Donut asked.

"One..." Church growled.

 **"** Aw, gimme a break."

"TWO!"

"Fine!" Donut snapped. He headed for the door to the store, completely unaware that it was in fact the entrance to the not-so-heavily fortified Blue Base. Donut was surprised to see that it seemed to be a lot like the Red Base from what he'd seen of it. _Wow. The aesthetics in this place are so limited!_ , he thought to himself.

He saw a soldier in blue armour standing in the centre of the store, with a blue flag beside him.

"Wow, you got here fast!" Caboose commented.

"Why is everyone so freakin' rude in this canyon?" Donut asked irritably. _Geez, it's catching._

"I'm not, sir. What can I do for you?" the blue-armoured soldier replied.

"Finally, someone with a little respect around here," Donut remarked. He was starting to feel a little better now.

"Yes, sir! I assume you're here because of this..." Caboose said, nodding at the flag.

"Wait, is this all you have?" Donut asked in surprise.

"Uh, yes, sir. That's it!" Caboose said nervously. _Yikes! This General guy doesn't seem happy. Why is everyone so mean in this canyon?_

"Aw man, this figures. Shit," Donut said. He decided to humour Grif and Simmons on the off-chance that they were morons and not pranksters. "What about elbow grease?"

"Uhmm..."

"Headlight fluid?" Donut asked.

"No. All we have is this flag," Caboose explained.

"Well, I can't go back empty handed," Donut mused. "I guess I'll take that."

Caboose was happy that the General seemed to be pacified. "Sure, that makes sense. I guess," he said.

Donut holstered his pistol and yanked the flag out of the ground. It came out easily, and the pole was sturdy and easily weighted. He shrugged, and he walked out of the base through the back entrance, remembering how cranky the cobalt guy had been. "Man, they're gonna give me so much shit for coming back with just this stupid flag," Donut muttered.

For those of you who have undoubtedly come from the same place as individuals like Donut and Caboose, which most of us like to call normal reality, you are likely confused as to the importance of the flag. The practice of the use of the flag as a symbol of victory dates back to old military and social training exercises. After its adoption into the military, the logical evolution was to use it in resource-depleted real-life battles. Capturing the opposing team's flag is a victory as it signifies defeating or outsmarting the enemy team, while also protecting a noncom due to the flag-bearer generally carrying the flag.

In this case, dumb luck had guided Donut to the flag, and he had claimed it with no clue as to its significance, all unnoticed by those who did.

These individuals in the know were still out beside the tank, having stopped arguing for the time being.  
"Well, enough gabbing out of us, let's take this bad boy out for a spin," Church suggested. He decided to be generous, since Tucker never got to use the sniper rifle, and he nodded at the tank. "Go ahead and hop in, Tucker," he offered.

"Me? I can't drive that thing," Tucker protested.

"You're telling me you're not Armour Certified?" Church asked in surprise.

"I ca- I don't even know how to use the fucking sniper rifle," Tucker spluttered. "Don't you know how to drive that?" he asked.

"No!" Church snapped, and he contemplated the situation for a few seconds, wondering what would be applicable to describe it, and he eventually came out with, "...Holy crap! Who is running this army!?"

"Hey!" they heard the rookie call. "Just wanted to let you know the General stopped by and picked up the flag!"

"Yeah! Okay! Whatever, moron!" Church replied. Still grousing, he turned back to Tucker. "Why would they give us a tank, if nobody here knows how to drive the damn thing?" he asked, before his brain finally registered what Caboose had said. "...Wait a second... What did he just say?"


	5. The Package is in the Open

_**The Package Is In the Open**_

It took the Blue Team a while to straighten things out, as is the nature of such incidents, especially given that the nature of screw-ups and blind luck was sadly not in the book for dealing with events at Blue Base.

"Let me get this straight..." Church said. "You gave this guy our flag?"

"Is that bad?"Caboose asked.

 _Oh man, this guy's special._ Church thought. "Bad?" he asked sarcastically. "Oh no, that's not bad. Next time he comes over, why don't you just help him blow up the whole goddamn base?" It would be a statement that he would later mentally kick himself for.

"There, there he is," Tucker called, pointing out across the canyon.

Church raised the sniper rifle and squinted through the scope. "Where?" he asked, before he spotted a flash of red moving up a hill. "Oh, yeah, oh, I got him." He zoomed in further; it was definitely a Red soldier. "He's sneaking around back behind the cliffs."

"He must be one smart son of a bitch," Tucker commented.

Now, as you no doubt have observed, from Donut's current trends, this was decidedly _not_ the case, and poor Donut was in fact wandering lost around Blood Gulch.

"Oh, man, I am so freakin' lost. Where the hell is the base?" Donut asked in frustration.

Now that Church could see the soldier through the sniper scope, he could determine a fascinating level of detail about the enemy. "Oh, shit..." he whispered."Hey Tucker, look at his armour. It's red."

Tucker held back a swallow. "Oh man, that means it's their Sergeant."

"Well, that makes sense," Church commented. "At least now we know how he got by our defences."

"Uh, you know…he came in the back door where you guys were standing," Caboose said carefully. He didn't want to piss Church off again, but it seemed like that was an easy task to fail.

Fortunately, the Blues were concerned with the now, not the how. "Yeah, okay, well let's take him out then," Tucker suggested.

"Roger that," Church replied. "Okay, say goodnight, Sarge," he said. He didn't necessarily enjoy killing people, but at the same time...he did. He opened fire, emptying the magazine into the country earth surrounding the red-armoured soldier.

The shots cracked around Donut, and he crouched down instinctively. "Son of a bitch!" he yelped as clouds of dust erupted from where the bullets had hit the ground.

"Aw crap," Church groaned.

He didn't get a response from either Tucker or Caboose, Tucker because he was still processing the evidence of what he'd just seen, and Caboose because he still didn't want to piss Church off.

Church wasn't fooled for a second when he saw Tucker looking at him. "...What?" he asked.

"You're REALLY not very good with that thing, are you?" Tucker asked.

They were distracted by Donut shouting at them and waving their flag "Hey! It's me! Don't shoot! I'm the guy that bought the flag, remember!?"

Even the Blues' somewhat decent hearing could not pick up Donut's words, so they assumed the worst.

"Oh great, now he's taunting us," Tucker groaned. "That's just embarrassing."

Church agreed. "Alright, that's it, I've had it," he snapped. "Rookie, you stay here. Me and Tucker, we'll head through the teleporter, we'll cut him off at the pass," he called, walking over to a doorway brimming with green energy.

"Right!" Caboose replied, happy to have an order that he could follow and not screw up.

"Tucker, you ready?" Church asked. "Let's go."

"There is no way I'm going through that thing," Tucker said.

"Tucker, we don't have time for this," Church snapped. "Why would they give us a teleporter if it doesn't work?" he said.

"I don't know, why would they give us a tank that no one can drive?"

 _Fuck, he's got a point._ "We already tested the teleporter, remember?"

"We threw rocks through it!"

"Yeah, and, so what? The rocks came out the other side, didn't they?"

"Yeah, but they were all hot and covered with black stuff," Tucker whined.

"Oh, so I guess that's what this is all about then," Church said calmly. "You're afraid of a little black stuff."

 **"** Yes. I am," Tucker replied. "I am afraid of black stuff."

"Tucker, I almost hate to do this to you," Church said cheerfully, raising his assault rifle.

"You wouldn't..." Tucker said in horror, and Caboose had gone very still.

"You know, I look at it this way," Church suggested. "Either A, we go through there and get the flag back, or B, we stay here and I get to kill you." He shrugged without a care in the world. "Either way, I win," he observed.

"For the record, I want you to know, rocks aren't people," Tucker said, casting a wary eye at the pistol and then the teleporter.

"Duly noted. Now get in there," Church replied, gesturing at the teleporter with his rifle.

"Crap..." Tucker groaned. "Alright. One, two..." and he ran through the teleporter.

The teleporter was a revolutionary device based on alien equipment found on a former human world. Sadly, teleporters seemed to be limited to the planetary body, and simple devices such as this required an entry and an exit point, to the degree that the exit point that had been placed in the middle of Blood Gulch, and was one-way. You could emerge, but you could not return.

For whatever reason, Tucker didn't appear out the other side.

"...Huh, he didn't come out the other side..." Caboose mused.

The possibility of his impending death if he went through the teleporter made Church understandably hesitant to go through himself. "Yeeaahhh, I've uh- I've decided I'm not gonna use the teleporter."  
Instead, Church leapt skilfully off the edge of the base and he landed in the dirt easily. "Okay, rookie, you stay here!" he called, sprinting out into the canyon. "I'll be back with the flag!

The Red Team had heard the four sniper shots as well…or at least, one of them had. Grif had grabbed the base's own sniper rifle, and he was scanning the canyon through the scope.  
"I still have no idea what you're talking about," Simmons told him. "I didn't hear any shots."

Grif sighed. "I'm telling you, it was four shots," he reminded Simmons. "Like bam, bam, bam."

"Wait a second, that's only three bams," Simmons noted.

"Bam," Grif retorted. Then he saw a cobalt-armoured figure out in the canyon. "Wait a second, we've got a Blue guy on the move out there," he said.

"Where's he headed?" Simmons asked.

Grif zoomed out and he swivelled the scope across. "Oh crap," he whispered. "It... It's Donut. And he's got something..." He zoomed in, trying to see. "It looks like..." and there he stopped. _Holy shit, he's done it._ "...Simmons, get the Warthog," he ordered.

Grif sounded so serious that Simmons didn't even protest, but he couldn't resist a joke. "Heh, you mean the Puma?"

Normally, Grif would have argued with Simmons, but the current situation demanded his utmost attention. "Yeah, keep making jokes," he scolded Simmons. "That'll win the war."


	6. 121 Giga Whats

_**1.21 Giga Whats**_

"Freeze!" Church snapped, levelling his assault rifle at Donut, who had dropped the flag in order to catch his breath.

"Hey, why the hell are you shooting at me?!" Donut raged. "You coulda hit me, dick!"

"Can it," Church snapped. "Don't try to play stupid with me, Sarge. I know who ya are. We've been spying on you for three weeks now."

"I just got here two hours ago," Donut protested. "And I'm not a Sergeant, I'm a Private."

Church realised that Donut was telling the truth; the Sergeant had a Southern accent so loud that you could hear it across the canyon from the cliffs. "Wait a minute, you're not the Sergeant!" he cried.

"Yeah, that's what I just said," Donut replied patiently.

"Well then how the hell did you manage to steal our flag?" Church asked incredulously.

"Steal? I have no idea what the hell you're talking about!" Donut protested.

Without warning, a soldier in black armoured materialized in between Church and Donut. "Three!" he yelled.

"JESUS!" Church yelped.

"HOLY SHIT! Who is this guy?" Donut yelled.

"What in the hell!?" Church asked. Then he saw the exit triangular-shaped point for the teleporter. "Tucker? Is that you?" he asked.

"How did you get up here ahead of me?" Tucker asked in confusion.

"And what's with that black shit on your armour?" Donut asked. _So filthy_ , he thought, despite himself.

Tucker quickly swivelled around and levelled his pistol. "Hey! Freeze, Sarge!" he yelled.

"Would you stop calling me a Sergeant, I'm still just a Private," Donut said patiently.

"The Sarge is still a Private?" Tucker asked in surprise. "Oh. My. God. The teleporter sent me back in time," he gasped.

"Sorry Lopez, we need the jeep," Grif yelled as he leapt into the driver's seat. Grif had a knack for cars - one of the few things that he had a knack for, really, and this one was no different. He ignored the loud violin music that blared from the radio and started the Warthog up.

"I'll take gunner," Simmons called, hoisting himself into the turret. "Let's roll."

Grif stepped on the accelerator and the Warthog started off as easy as you like, but he still had a concern. "How do you turn off the fucking radio in this car?" he asked, looking at the dials.

"Don't worry Lopez, I'll bring her back in one piece," Simmons called.  
Lopez didn't respond - as he never did - he just watched the Warthog move into the depths of Blood Gulch.

Tucker was still under the delusion that he'd time-travelled, so he was trying to explain the affair to Church. "Look, I know you don't know me, but you have to believe what I'm about to tell you," he explained slowly. "Some time in your future I get stationed here in Blood Gulch, and we meet. And this guy here, he gets promoted to Sergeant of the Red Army, and we spy on them. And they get this new jeep, and I'm all like, "There is no way you can pick up chicks in a tank!"

"Tucker?" Church asked. "What the fuck are you babbling about?"

"I know all this sounds crazy," Tucker continued, "but he eventually becomes a Sergeant, and then one day we get a tank, and he comes and steals our flag while we're distracted."

"Is this guy a retard?" Donut asked in surprise.

Ignoring the violin music, Church snapped, "Red? Shut up," before he turned to Tucker. "Tucker? Listen to me. Ya haven't gone back in time, okay?" The music was getting louder, which really didn't help Church's temper, and he gestured at Tucker. "This IS the guy who stole the flag, he's just not the Sergeant. Turns out he's just some dumb rookie who happens to have the same colour armour as him. He got in somehow, just..." and he finally snapped, turning and yelling, "For God's sake! WHAT IS THAT MUSIC!?"

The Warthog sailed over the hill, the music blaring out of the speakers at full volume.

"Woohoo!" Grif cheered.

"Holy shit!" Tucker yelled.

"Son of a bitch!" Church screamed before turning and running. "Run! Jesus! Run!" he yelled at Tucker.

"The jeep followed me back in time!" Tucker yelled as he sped off himself.

Grif braked smoothly, and he leapt out of the Warthog beside Donut, while Simmons kept up the fire on the retreating Blues.

"Ow! Git! Ow! Git! Ow, ow!" the cobalt one was yelling.

Simmons was spewing insults faster than Sarge could vomit blueberries as he tracked the Blues with bullets. "That's right! That's right, I got your ass! Get off your ass and run, you cock bites! Right now! Yeah, not so pretty when you gotta run are you!"

"What the hell is going on here?" Grif asked.

"You know what?" Donut said. "I honestly have no idea what's going on. I think everyone in this canyon is absolutely insane."

"Yeah, that's right! Stay there! You know where your flag is? We're gonna get you! Come on! Don't be a wimp! Come on, Blue! Come on, get out there!" Simmons was yelling.

Ignoring Simmons, Grif asked, "How did you get the flag?"

"I don't know, I just asked for it," Donut replied.

"Wait, that worked?"

"I guess. Is it not supposed to?"

Grif contemplated Donut's statement. "I don't know, we… never even thought to try that," he admitted.

"I've got a whole barrel of love to shoot you with!" Simmons crowed. "Come on! Get out now! Yeah, come on out! I know you like this! Come out where I can get you!"

Grif held back an insult and an eye-roll. "Just take the flag to the base, I'll explain there," he said to Donut.

"Not until someone tells me what the fuck is go-"

"There's no time to explain, rookie!" Grif interrupted. "Just take the flag, and go to base! I'll explain everything there," he repeated.

"Fine!" Donut retorted, and he turned and marched in the direction of Blue Base.

"Back to our base, dumbass!" Grif yelled.

"Uh, I know," Donut said, deeply embarrassed. "I just got turned around, that's all."

"Come on! Don't be a wimp! Come on, Blue! Be tough, get out there!" Simmons laughed as he kept up the fire.

Caboose had commandeered Church's sniper rifle to observe the recovery, and thus he had a front-row seat to the complete and utter cock-up that was taking place in the centre of the canyon. "Oh man, that's not good," he whispered as he saw Church and Tucker take cover behind a rock up on the cliff.  
He moved the sight towards the jeep and bit back a yelp. "Oh my god, that jeep has a really big gun," he gasped.He put the rifle down - he didn't know the first thing about firing it - and he turned and looked at the tank. "Stay here... Tank... Stay here... Tank... ...Ah, screw it."

Wisely deciding not to try and accidentally injure himself (and doom his teammates) Caboose turned and ran for the nearest ramp.

"Yeah, get going! Take that! I know you like that there!" Church heard the maroon gunner yell. "Come out! Come here! Poke your head up! Come on, Blue! Get your head out there!"

Church sighed from his crouching position. "Well, we'll just wait here," he suggested to Tucker. "That thing's gotta run outta bullets some time."


	7. Check Out the Treads on That Tank

_**Check Out the Treads on That Tank**_

Still crouched behind a rock with bullets smashing into the canyon wall behind them, Church and Tucker had a while to contemplate their existence before it was eventually snuffed out by the continuous stream of bullets. Eventually, Church asked the question that really needed to be asked in a situation like this one:

"My god, doesn't that thing ever run out of bullets?"

"You know, in hindsight, we should have brought the tank," Tucker commented.

"Hey, Tucker, what good is a tank gonna do us if nobody here knows how to drive it?" Church asked irritably.

"Yeah, I can see how hiding behind a rock is a much better strategy."

"Well, yeah, but... oh man, I guess I gotta give that one to ya," Church admitted.

The tank in question had just been boarded by the brave Caboose. As the canopy closed, the tank's lights lit up, and a cool female voice sounded through the speakers. _"Hello, and thank you for activating the M808V Main Battle Tank. You may call me Sheila."_

Caboose's family had always taught him to be polite, so he replied, "Hello. Sheila. Big tank lady," he stammered nervously.

 _"_ _Would you like me to run the tutorial program?"_ the tank asked.

Still trying to get used to the idea of a tank that could talk, Caboose replied,"Oh, that'd be very nice. Thank you."

 _"_ _Tutorial program activated,"_ Shelia declared. _"This program is intended to instruct non-certified personnel in the use of this Scorpion class tank. Let's begin with some driving."_

"Okay," Caboose said. He did his best to calm his nerves as the tank's treads began to roll across the ground. _This isn't so bad_ , he thought.

It had been fun at first, but seeing Simmons just fire the Warthog's turret at the rocks was getting boring. Even Simmons seemed to have gotten bored (or he'd just run out of breath) given that he was no longer spouting insults every second. Grif was happy that the constant fire wasn't getting them shot at, and non-productivity certainly was his thing, but this was just getting ridiculous.

"Simmons," Grif called, but Simmons couldn't hear him over the sound of the turret. "SIMMONS!" he yelled again.

Simmons heard him the second time and he hopped down from the turret.

"Man, that thing is loud," Grif commented.

Neither Grif nor Simmons were observant enough to notice the tank that was driving behind them in the distance, guided by Shelia's expert direction and poor Caboose's panicked controls.

In Simmons' case it was certainly understandable, given that the noise had pounded his ears badly. "...WHAT?" he yelled.

"Come on, let's sneak around the back of the rock and get 'em out," Grif suggested.

"OKAY."

"Keep it down!" Grif snapped. "Jesus. Let's go, before they figure out what's going on."

Poor Caboose was utterly bamboozled. Shelia was doing her best to assist him, but there was only so much that an automated tutorial program could do with such an incompetent soldier. Currently, the tank had somehow ended up driving up a large rock and the main cannon was waving helplessly in the air, helplessness that was only mirrored in the mind of Caboose.

 _"_ _Now that you've mastered driving the M808V, let's move on to some of the safety features,"_ Shelia informed Caboose.

"No, no, wait, go back!" Caboose protested as the tank finally slipped off the rock. "Why are there six pedals if there are only four directions?" he asked in despair.

Church peeked out from behind the rock, while Tucker cowered behind him. "Psst, hey, they stopped firing," he whispered to Tucker.

"Why are you whispering?" Tucker asked in confusion.

"Uhm... I don't know," Church admitted, still whispering.

"Aw, crap, I don't think we're gonna be able to get around this way," Grif moaned as he looked up at the cliff.

Simmons was getting pissed. "Tell me again, uh, why did we get out of the jeep?" he asked irritably.

Neither Grif nor Simmons noticed the presence of the only other armoured vehicle in the canyon rolling up behind them.

"Well, I guess it was this or sit there and watch you shoot rocks all day long," Grif retorted.

"Well, at least that was fun," Simmons complained, and then he saw something move out of the corner of his eye, at the same time as Grif noticed the heat behind them. They turned simultaneously to see the giant death machine...looking, was it _looking_ at them?

"Holy CRAP. What in God's name is that thing?" Grif gasped.

"Tucker, don't be stupid," Church protested as they looked at the empty Warthog. "They're just trying to draw us out."

"No they're not, look - they left the jeep. They're gone," Tucker said patiently.

Church frowned to himself, so much that Tucker could hear it in his words. "Well, I don't know about this. It seems pretty fishy, but... alright screw it, let's go get it."

 _That thing is definitely looking at_ us, Grif thought. _Fuck, is this like that movie with the dinosaurs?_ "Dude, hold still," he whispered to Simmons. "I don't think it sees us."  
His conclusion became much less certain when he heard a tone go off.


	8. Don't PH34R the Reaper

_**Don't PH34R the Reaper**_

Grif and Simmons were currently involved in the epic process of trying not to shit their armour as the turret of the tank "looked" from Grif to Simmons.

"Why is it just sitting there?" Grif asked in an attempt to conceal his nervousness.

"Just trying to mess with our heads," Simmons replied, doing his best to fight off a cold sweat. "Let's get back to the Warthog."

 _"_ _This tank is equipped with an auto-fire sequence that can be activated by pressing the auto-fire button,"_ Shelia explained to the Caboose.

The rookie carefully scanned the buttons in front of him. "Auto-fire, auto-fire, here, here! No, wait... okay, that's more a switch than a button..." he muttered.

 _"_ _This will end the tutorial, and should only be activated if proper safety procedures-"_ Shelia was saying.

"Okay, you ready?" Simmons asked. "Let's do this on three. One..."

"Wait," Grif whispered. "On three? Or three and then go?"

Simmons rolled his eyes. "On three. It's always faster to go on three."

"Okay, okay," Grif said. "On three."

"Here!" Caboose cried, hitting a button.

 _"_ _Tutorial deactivated. Auto-fire sequence activated."_

"Ready?" Simmons asked quietly.

 _"_ _Acquiring target."_

"I'm going for the jeep. Cover me," Church whispered to Tucker.

Now, Grif hadn't just asked Simmons for clarification of the timing to know when to go...he had asked Simmons for clarification of the timing to know when to _go_. Put simply, there was no way in hell that he was waiting until the count of three to get away from a goddamn tank, so he was already backing away from Simmons in the direction of the Warthog.

"One..." Simmons whispered.

Grif turned and fled, sprinting for the Warthog and violating every common movie cliché ever. While it is indeed true that standing still is an extremely poor idea and will just eventually get you killed, _running_ will indeed attract something's attention, including the auto-fire sequence of the M808V Main Battle Tank.

The tank's turret slowly tracked Grif as he fled through the dirt. _"Target acquired,"_ Shelia declared.

Grif ran flat out through the dirt, keeping both hands on his pistol - for all the good that it would do him - panting hard as he reached his top speed, which just so happened to be about average. Even with the fear of death by tank motivating him, Grif was not a particularly quick, nor fit individual despite his military training. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit..." he gasped.

"Two..." Simmons whispered.

 _"_ _Target locked."_

Now Church was running as well, gun in hand, he sprinted down the hill towards the jeep. He was in better shape than Grif, but that wasn't saying much, so he was still panting. Admittedly, due to the stressful circumstances, both soldiers were panting out of sheer fear as much as exhaustion.

"Three!" Simmons yelled, and he turned to see Grif hauling ass towards the Warthog. "Oh, you back-stabbing cock bite!" he snapped.

 _"_ _Firing main cannon,"_ he heard the tank declare.

The tank's main weapon discharged, blasting a tungsten shell across the cannon that smashed into the ground in front of the Warthog and blasted it into the air.

"Son of a bitch!" Simmons yelled, crouching next to the tank.

"SON OF A BITCH!" Grif screamed, since he'd been right next to the Warthog when it exploded.

Church had been quite close to it as well, and he yelped, "Son of a bitch!" he yelped as the jeep settled in the dirt.

 _"_ _Firing main cannon,"_ Shelia declared again, and Simmons sprinted out from beside the tank.

"Shit!" Simmons yelped. Grif had had the same poor idea to run towards him, and the tank shell passed between them. The tank fired again, and the shell smashed into the ground, causing Simmons to start gabbling.

 _"_ _Firing main cannon,"_ Shelia declared. Another shell hit the dirt, throwing clods through the air

"Dammit!" Simmons yelled as he linked back up with Grif.

Shelia fired again, with the declaration of, _"_ _Firing main cannon."_

"Hey dude, the jeep blew up," Tucker commented as Church ran back up to meet him.

"No kidding," Church snapped. "Thanks for the update, Tucker."

Grif and Simmons had managed to take cover behind a large rock as Shelia continued to fire. A shell smashed into the rock, but even the power of the tank barely chipped the ancient material.

"Hey, I have a GREAT idea," Simmons suggested to Grif. "Let's get out of the jeep and sneak around the back of the rock." He heard the tank declare the firing of its primary weapon again, and the rock took another hit that started to crack it. "Great plan, you idiot!" Simmons yelled.

Caboose couldn't see the Reds anymore, and he was about to point this out to Shelia when she declared, _"_ _All targets eliminated. Acquiring new target."_ Much to Caboose's surprise, the crosshair on the screen in front of Caboose started panning up and to the left. Caboose swallowed as he saw that it was pointing at Church and Tucker - and - Church was standing in the open looking down at the tank.

"Hey, Tucker, look at this, man - it's the rookie!" Church cried. "And he brought tank out to scare off the Reds."

"What? No way!" Tucker cried.

"Hey, rookie! Good job, man!" Church cheered in congratulations. "Why didn't you tell us you knew how to drive the tank?"

 _"_ _New target acquired,"_ Shelia declared, lining the crosshairs over Church.

"That's not a target. That's Church!" the rookie protested.

"Yeah, that's right, it's me, Church!" Church yelled. "What's going on, man?"

 _"_ _Target locked."_

"What!?" Caboose yelled. "No! Target unlock! Unlock!" he cried, searching frantically for a button that could stop the tank. "Please help me, nice lady!"

 _"_ _Firing main cannon,"_ Shelia declared.

The rookie swallowed nervously. "Uh oh..."

Up on the cliffs, Tucker realized what was going on. He should have warned Church, but his fuzzled mind only spat out, "Uh oh..."

"What?" Church asked, and then he realized what was happening. "..Oh, son of a bi-" he began.

Shelia fired, and the tungsten shell smashed into the ground in front of Church. The explosion flung Church into the air, and he slammed into the rock wall with a sickening crunch.

"Holy fuck!" Tucker screamed as Church slid down the wall and fell limply to the ground. "Church, are you okay? Talk to me! Church!" He peeked out so that he could see Caboose and yelled, "You shot Church, you team-killing fucktard!"

 _"_ _Auto-fire sequence deactivated,"_ Shelia declared.

By some miracle, Church was still alive, but he was fading fast. "Tucker! ...T-Tucker!" he gasped.

"Church!" Tucker cried. "It's going to be okay, man," he said, looking down sadly.

Having just been shot by a tank, Church knew that Tucker's excuses were bullshit. "No. Ah... I'm na-I'm not gonna make it," he groaned. Talking was agony, but it didn't feel like broken bones or punctured organs, instead his entire body was equally on fire. Then the fire started to fade, and it hit Church harder than the tank had – he was about to die, and there was something he had to do. "Tucker... there's something I need to tell you," he said.

"What is it?" Tucker asked, hanging on to every word.

"I just want you to know... I always hated you. I always hated you the most," Church explained weakly.

Tucker's response was just as unsympathetic. "Yeah, I know you did. Now hurry up and die, you prick."

"Okay," Church replied, and he choked and gasped as his consciousness took the easy way out and shut down."Herk!...Bleah..."


	9. After Church

_**After Church**_

As soon as Simmons and Grif had seen that the tank was taking aim at Church, they'd bailed carefully. When it had fired, they'd outright sprinted to get away from the tank and back to the Red Base.

Donut was waiting for them on the top of the base, with the Blue's flag waving majestically in the breeze. "What happened?" he asked.

Poor Grif was panting heavily; he'd never run so far nor fast in his entire life. "Big... Tank... Shooting... Whooooh!" he gasped.

"Damn, man, we only ran like three hundred feet," Simmons remarked. "You are really out of shape."

"Fuck... You..." Grif panted.

"Where's your car?" Donut asked.

"General Patton here had a great strategy to leave it behind," Simmons snarked.

"Hey, it would have worked if that tank hadn't shown up," Grif protested. Now, this was a fair point given the incompetence of _both_ sides in the canyon, but even then it was still likely that they would have screwed it up.

"You lost the jeep?" Donut asked. "Oh man, Lopez is gonna be pissed. Where is it?"

A titanic explosion rocked the canyon, and the Warthog flipped end over end and bounced on its wheels as it landed on top of the base.

"What the hell..!?" Grif asked. Then the tank fired, and Grif screamed, "SON OF A BITCH!"

"Oh crap!" Donut screamed, snatching up the flag. "What the hell is that thing?"

Rather unwisely, Grif had taken cover behind the Warthog. "That's the tank!" he yelled in terror.

"Hey uh, Grif, uh, you wanna hold the flag for a little bit?" Donut asked, holding the flag out to him.

Another shell rocked the base, and Grif backed behind the prongs of the base. "No, keep that away from me!" he screamed.

Shelia fired again, hitting the base just below the jeep.

"Why do you keep firing at the jeep?" Tucker asked.

"Because it's locked on!" Caboose snapped with uncharacteristic aggression.

 _"_ _Target locked,"_ Shelia informed them.

"Well, unlock it," Tucker suggested.

"Last time I unlocked it, I KILLED CHURCH!" the rookie shouted.

Tucker considered the rookie's point and had to admit that he was right. "Oh, right... keep shooting the jeep then."

"I hate to be the one to point this out guys, but I think we're screwed," Donut commented as another shell hit the base.

"Yeah. I have to agree with the rookie on this one," Simmons admitted.

Then they heard the most beautiful sound imaginable, the beeping of the radio.

 _"_ _Blood Gulch Outpost Number One. Come in, Blood Gulch Outpost, come in. Do you read me? This is Sergeant-"_

"Oh my god, Sarge, is that you?" Grif cried. He never thought that he'd be so happy to hear his Sergeant's southern, gruff voice.

 _"_ _Roger that, Private. I am currently in-bound to your position from Command."_

The tank fired again, and Simmons took over the situation. "Sir, this is Simmons," he called.

 _"_ _Hello, Simmons. I hope everything's gone alright while I've been gone,"_ Sarge said.

"Actually, sir, things are kind of hectic right now," Grif cut in. "The new rookie arrived, and somehow he managed to infiltrate the Blue Base, and now we have their flag, the Warthog is damaged, one of their guys is dead, and there's this huge fucking tank about to destroy our base."

The radio crackled for a few seconds as Sarge understandably tried to process the report that he'd been given. _"_ _...Am I talkin' to the right base?"_ he asked.

 _Oh for fuck's sake!_ , Grif yelled in his head as the tank fired. "Sarge, WE. ARE GOING. TO DIE HERE!" he screamed.

 _"_ _Well then hold tight, boys,"_ Sarge replied. _"I think I gotta solution to your little "tank" problem."_

Tucker was the first to hear it. The suction sounds of a Pelican gunship's engines were unmistakable, and the shadow of the dropships certainly helped. "Uh oh," he said as he watched the Pelican fly over the Red Base. He backed up quickly, suggesting, "Hey, Caboose, you might wanna get out of the tank. Like right now."

"I can't figure out how to get this thing open!" Caboose yelped.

 _"_ _Night vision engaged."_

"Rookie, get out now!" Tucker yelled as anti-vehicle shells began to explode progressively closer to the tank.

"Okay, open the do—" Caboose gasped, before composing himself. "Okay, I, Sheila, will you please open the door?" he asked the tank politely.

 _"_ _Driver canopy open_ _,"_ Shelia declared, and Caboose wasted no time in bailing and getting the heck out of there _"_ _Thank you for using the M808V Main Battle-"_

The final shell crashed into Shelia, and the explosion flung her into the air.

Caboose ran flat out, ignoring the clouds of dust and dirt that were spraying out of the ground behind him. "Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap! Running, running, running!" He managed to reach Tucker, and the sanctuary of a rock that would protect them from any unlikely sniper fire (seeing as the Reds were still almost completely and utterly terrified.)" Man, that was close," he panted.

"Look at your tank though," Tucker reminded him.

Shelia was upside down, her turret jammed uselessly against the ground. _"_ _I_ _'m scared, Dave. Will I dream?"_ she said. _"Daisy..._ _"_ and then the synthesizers failed, _"_ _Daisy..."_

"Sheeeeiilaaaaa! Noooooo!" Caboose screamed, struggling to hold back the tears. Then he decided that he didn't need to and began weeping quietly in his helmet.

"What? No!" Tucker cried. "Sheila! Sheila!" he cried as well, until he realized that he had no clue what he was talking about. "W-Wait... Who's Sheila?" he asked.

"Sheila's the lady in the tank," Caboose explained sadly. "She was my friend..." he wept.

Tucker's brain promptly 180-ed in a different direction and he crowed, "Oh, dude! I knew you could pick up chicks in a tank!"


	10. A Shadow of his Former Self

_**A Shadow of His Former Self**_

"Come in, Blue Command. This is Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha. Do you read me?" Tucker asked. The radio squeaks rang through his helmet, and sweat trickled down his forehead both from the stress of the day and the pounding heat of Blood Gulch that was starting to tax his cooling fans.

Caboose sighed and scrubbed at a tiny spot on Tucker's armour. "Okay, that is the last of it. Your armour is clean now!" he called.

"Did you get all the black stuff off?" Tucker asked.

Static crackled over the Blue Team's collective radio, and the all familiar voice of Vic crackled over the radio. " _This is Blue Command. Come in, Blood Gulch Outpost Alpha."_

"Hello, Command! We need help!" Tucker cried.

 _"_ _Roger that, Blood Gulch. What is your request?"_

"I don't know what the technical military term is for it, but, uh, we're pretty fucked up down here," Tucker explained. "We need men!

"…Dude, how long have you guys been down there?"

Tucker blanched and he did his best to prevent himself from vomiting inside his helmet. "No, no, no, n-not like that!" he protested. "We need more men to help us."

 _"_ _Roger that. Did you get the tank we sent?"_ Vic asked.

"Yeah, that got blown up too," Tucker explained sheepishly.

 _"_ _Wow. Sucks to be you."_

"Yeah, we know."

 _"_ _Okay, here's what I can do,"_ Vic explained. _"The nearest Blue forces can be there in sixteen days, or I-"_

"Sixteen days!? That's almost two weeks!" Tucker protested.

 _"_ _OR I can hire a nearby Freelancer and get him there within a few hours,"_ Vic explained patiently, ignoring Tucker's abysmal arithmetic skills.

Caboose was a simple soul, so he immediately commented, "I like the "in an hour" one."

"Yeah, me too," Tucker agreed. "Roger that, Command. We prefer the quicker solution."

 _"_ _Ten-four, Blood Gulch. We'll contact Freelancer Tex and have them there post-haste. Command out."_

Tucker heaved a sigh of relief. "Whoever he is, make sure he can fix a tank," he suggested.

"What's a Freelancer?" Caboose asked.

Now would normally be the time for us to deliver some exposition, but fortunately Tucker was feeling kind enough to do so for us far more simply and easily than we would have. "Freelancers are independent," Tucker explained. "They're not Red or Blue. They're just guns for hire who'll fight for whoever has the most money."

"Like a mercenary," Caboose mused.

"Right. Or like your mom when the rent's due."

"...Oh, that's funny."

"Yeah? You didn't think that was too obvious?"

"No, no, not at all. It- It was good."

It was then that they heard a familiar voice whisper, "Tucker... Tucker..."

Tucker and Caboose swivelled around in shock to see the source of the voice.  
A soldier in MJOLNIR armour was standing in front of the Blue Base, but he was neither Red, nor Blue, but white. He also happened to be completely transparent.

"Who the hell are you!?" Tucker asked, but as he'd already noted, the voice was a familiar one that he had a feeling that he remembered from rather recently.

"I am the ghost of Church, and I've come back with a warning!" the ghostly figure cried.

"You're not Church!" Caboose chided the figure. "Church is blue. You're white!"

"Rookie, shut up, man!" Church snapped. "I'm a freakin' ghost! Have you ever seen a blue ghost before?"

"Yeah, that's definitely him," Tucker commented.

"Now I gotta start over again," Church complained. He cleared his throat…somehow, and resumed speaking in a ghostly voice. "Tucker... Tucker...! I've come back with a warning!"

"Is it _really_ necessary to do the voice?" Tucker asked sceptically.

"Yeah, it's kinda annoying," Caboose added.

"Fine," Church grumbled. "Okay, here's the deal: I've come back from the dead to give you a warning about Tex. Don't let-"

"What's the warning?" Caboose asked.

"Shut up for one second and I'll tell you!"

"Oh, sorry."

"Seriously, man," Church said in exasperation. "I mean, I'm coming back from the great beyond here. Do you think this is easy? It's not. It's not like, just, you know, pop in and out whenever I feel like it, it takes a lot of concentration."

"Sorry," Caboose whispered again.

"I mean, it's bad enough that you killed me to begin with but now I come back and I can't get a word in edgewise, man," Church chided Caboose. "Okay, here's the deal-"

"Is this the warning?"

"Alright, that's it," Church growled. "I swear to god, Caboose, your ass is haunted. When we're done here, I'm gonna haunt you."

"Yeah, you're even starting to bug me," Tucker admitted.

"Okay, Tucker," Church began. "You remember that I told you that I was stationed on Sidewinder before they transferred me here to Blood Gulch, right?"

"No."

"Sidewinder? Isn't that the ice planet?" Caboose asked.

"Yes," Church replied.

"Cool! What was that like?" Caboose asked.

"Um… it was cold."

"That's it? Just cold?" Caboose said in disappointment.

"What do you want from me? A poem?" Church asked. "It's a planet made entirely out of ice. It's really... fuckin'... cold."

"Will you just let him talk?" Tucker complained.

"Alright, well..." Church continued. "One day, when I was there, everything was just like normal. I remember… I was out on patrol with my partner, Jimmy. That Jimmy was a real good kid. Everybody liked him."

"D'ya think I was a good kid, Church?" Tucker asked hopefully. Anything to brighten up this stinker of a day would be nice.

 **"** Tucker, don't get jealous, man," Church replied without missing a beat. "Just listen to the story, okay? Like I said, the guys were hanging around, waiting for some action, bitching about the cold..."

He remembered it like it was yesterday, chatting with Jimmy while ignoring the incessant bitching.

"Man, it's fucking cold."

"I hope we get some action."  
" _Anyway, Jimmy was in the middle of telling me all about this girlfriend he had back home."_

"Yep, as soon as I get back, I'm gonna get down on one knee and ask her to marry me," Jimmy had said proudly in that deep Southern accent of his.

 _"_ _And that's when Tex showed up."_

Church had seen a blur out of the corner of his eye, and he'd turned in surprise, but hadn't seen a thing. He'd started to wonder if the cold was playing tricks on him…

 _"_ _Private Mickey was the first to go. He was halfway across the base when all of sudden he started screaming bloody murder..."_

"Bloody murder! Bloody murder!" Mickey had screamed, quite literally. All his blind firing had done nothing (it hadn't even produced any team kills, luck that had sadly run out on Church's part). He went down, and then another soldier fell to the ground in a senseless heap from a blow to the back of the head.

 _"The whole thing was over before it even started."_

Another Blue soldier collapsed dead, and both Jimmy and Church selected a space of air and opened fire, hoping to hit their unseen assailant with the bullets.

 _"_ _Poor Jimmy was the last one to go. Tex walked up to him, pulled Jimmy's skull right out of his head, and beat him to death with it."_

"Wait a second… how do you beat someone to death with their own skull?" Tucker asked in confusion. "That doesn't seem physically possible."

"That's exactly what Jimmy kept screaming," Church replied.

"This doesn't seem physically possible!" Jimmy's deflated head had somehow managed to scream, before letting out a groan of "Hurk! Bleh..."

"Bottom line is, these Freelancers, they're bad news, and Tex is one of the worst," Church explained.

"If he's such a bad-ass, why didn't he kill you?" Caboose asked.

"To tell ya, I don't know why I'm not dead," Church admitted. "Coulda killed me at any point. ...But maybe it's because Tex and I have run into each other once before."

"Where?" Tucker asked curiously.

 **"** You, uh... you remember that girl I told you about, back home?" Church asked, and Caboose wisely decided to shut up at this point, lest he piss Church off supremely again. "Well, let's just say that Tex is the real reason why we never got married." Then he felt something, at least as much as a ghost could feel anything, and he knew that his time was up. "Guys, I'm fading fast, and I don't know when I'll be back. Just listen to my warning. Don't let Tex get involved here."

"Okay," Tucker replied.  
"I mean it, Tucker," Church warned him. "No fighting, no scouting, nothing. You'll regret it..." he warned them as he faded away.

The two Blue soldiers contemplated the existence of a ghost for a moment, something that they considered for all of three seconds before Tucker latched on to the most important thing that he'd gleamed from the conversation with the dead. "So...! Tex and Church were after the same girl."

Caboose felt a lot better after what he'd said now. "I told you his girlfriend was a slut."

Neither Blue soldier saw the new arrival, who had arrived just in time to hear Caboose's comment. Clad in black armour, this soldier held no allegiance, no mercy, and little restraint, and could hold one hell of a grudge. To put it simply, the Blues were fucked.


	11. Knock, Knock, Who's There? Pain

_**Knock, Knock, Who's There? Pain.**_

Private Lopez was most pissed, though you wouldn't have known it by looking at him. He was working on the damaged Warthog, screwing in a panel with a socket wrench irritably as the one responsible, a certain orange-armoured Private Dexter Grif, explained to Sarge just how he'd managed to get the Warthog so badly damaged.

"And then I thought, you know, we could sneak around the side while they were hiding behind the rock, but uh, well that's when the tank showed up and.. shit just started blowin' up," Grif explained. "I don't know," he sighed.

Sarge sighed as well, an exhale of exasperation greater than the one that was the likely result of this piece of alliteration. "Grif, do you have any godly idea how much this piece of equipment costs?" he growled.

"I-I don't know, uh, like, uh, what… ten, ten… twenty, twenty-five bucks, maybe?" Grif asked nervously. "Uh, you-you're gonna kill me now, aren't you?" he gasped.

As much as Sarge would have liked to take out his shotgun and blow Grif's head off there and then, he was fairly certain that his aim would have been thrown off by his unyielding rage."Tell you what, Grif, I'm a fair man," he said. "I'll give you a ten second head start here before I let Lopez do anything he wants to ya," he suggested, biting back a smile.

Right on cue Lopez stood up and turned towards Grif.

Grif looked nervously from the soldier in red to the soldier in brown. "Guys, I just want you to know, I'm really, really sorry here, and-"

Lopez ignored him and took out his assault rifle.

"Five Mississippi. Six Mississippi," Sarge counted.

Grif swallowed and he began to back away. "Okay, uh, I guess I better get going then.

Lopez and Sarge looked at each other then turn and started firing at Grif. Even Sarge knew better than to use his favourite shotgun at such long ranges, so he simply took potshots with his pistol.

"Hey guys, that's not funny! Somebody could get hurt here!" Grif protested as he dodged the bullets as best he could. Normally of course the best that Grif could do was mediocre, but bullets were understandably a special case.

At the Blue Base, the Blue Team were also currently engaged in the practice of shooting at their own men, although Tucker and Caboose weren't participating willingly, particularly after Church's unfortunate passing.

"That's basically it, sir," Tucker explained. "They have five guys over there and a big jeep."

"And your flag," Tex commented in a deep voice. The Freelancer pulled out a magazine and reloaded the pistol.

"Right, that too," Tucker admitted.

Tex chucked a grenade forwards, and it exploded perfectly, sending shrapnel bouncing across the base and completely missing all three of them.

"Uh, hey, Tex?" Tucker explained. "I don't know what it's been like at your other bases, but we try not to use other soldiers as target practice here." He looked at the shaken Caboose, who was standing in front of one of Blue Base's cover prongs, with bullet and shrapnel holes in the stone all around him.

"I'm scared," Caboose whispered, and Tucker believed him.

Caboose only felt that it was safe to run up, for whatever incomprehensible reason, after Tex had turned away from him and began checking out different weapons.

"So, you've got the Special Forces black armour, I see," Tucker observed, trying his best to make small talk. "Were you in the Special Forces at some point?"

Tex shot Tucker a look and slipped a clip into an assault rifle.

"Yeah, I used to have black armour too," Tucker said. "It was black because I got this stuff all over it from th-"

But Tex had turned and leapt off the edge of the base, ignoring the Blue soldiers.

"Oh, okay, you gotta go? I'll see you later," Tucker said sheepishly.

"I don't think he likes you," Caboose whispered.

"...Thanks," Tucker muttered. He ran up to the edge of Blue Base with Caboose before Tex could get out of earshot. "Where are you going?" he called.

Tex turned and looked at them with a look that made Tucker feel like an idiot. "Red Base. Kill everybody. Get the flag back." The Freelancer turned and started heading to Red Base again.

"Oh... Okay! We'll just stay here and guard the trans... porter..." Caboose called.  
He figured that he'd really pissed Tex off, because he was pretty sure that he heard Tex mutter something derisively.

At the Red Base, Grif was currently doing his best to justify his screw-up to the remaining half of the team that wasn't shooting at him yet. "So, Sarge thought my strategy had merit, but was poorly executed, probably because SOMEBODY didn't believe in it," Grif explained.

"Bullshit," Simmons replied without missing a beat. "He told me he thought you were a retarded monkey, and he's gonna suspend your weapon privileges."

"Hey, since I captured the flag, d'ya think they'll give me my own colour armour now?" Donut asked.

"What do you mean "captured"?" Simmons asked incredulously. "You thought you were buying it at the store, you idiot."

"Still, you think there's a shot?" Donut asked.

Simmons considered the answer and he shrugged. "Maybe they'll give you Grif's armour, since he destroyed the Warthog," he suggested.

Grif snorted. "Hyeah, heh-wait... You don't.. You don't think they'd do that, do you?" he asked.

Down by the Warthog, Sarge watched Lopez working on another panel with his socket wrench, heaving it out and meddling with the connection hoses.

"Try connectin' that hose to that metal thingy there," Sarge suggested. Lopez stood up, and Sarge added, "I think that's what's makin' that rattle." He realised his mistake when Lopez turned at looked at him, and when he remembered that Lopez had gladly joined him in taking potshots at Grif. "I think I'll let you do it," Sarge suggested, and Lopez returned to his work.

Something moved behind Sarge, just in his peripheral vision, and Sarge swivelled around in surprise. "What the...? What was that?" he asked in surprise.

At the top of the Red Base, Simmons had seen the movement too, but he didn't know what to make of it.

"Simmons, what's going on? What's over there?" Grif asked.

Simmons peered over the edge of Red Base. "I thought I saw something for a second," he admitted.

"Hey rookie, tuck the flag some place safe until we can figure out what's goin' on," Grif called over his shoulder.

"Good idea. I was sick of carrying this thing anyway," Donut agreed, and he dropped the Blue flag into the center of the Red Base.

Simmons heard a scuffing, and he whispered, "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah," Grif replied.

"Hey! What's going on?" Donut whispered loudly.

Down below the lip of the Red Base, Tex was huddled by the wall, out of sight. Not that they could have seen the Freelancer regardless. All Freelancers had specialised equipment in their armour, which gave them for lack of a better word extraordinary abilities. Tex's particular armour ability was that of reverse-engineered activate camouflage, which bent light rays around the person and presented the illusion of invisibility. It was this ability that had allowed Tex to singlehandedly destroy Church's squad all those years ago.

Tex pinpointed the source of the loudest whisper and tossed a glowing blue sphere into the air and over the edge of the base.

Grif heard the hissing behind him, and he turned around in surprise, wondering if Simmons would mistake it for a snake. "What the fuck?" he asked in surprise. A pulsing blue sphere surrounded by a liquid glow was attached to the side of Donut's helmet, just out of the rookie's peripheral vision.

"What?" Donut asked.

Simmons turned around as well, and he blanched at the sight of the sphere. "What is _that_ thing?" he asked in disgust.

"What thing?" Donut asked in concern.

"There's somethin' on your head," Grif explained.

"What, is it a spider? Get it off!"

"No, it's not a spider, it's, like a… blue thing," Simmons explained.

"What, like a blue spider? Get it off!"

"It's not a spider! Calm down," Grif snapped. "It's some kinda… fuzzy, pulsating thing."

"That doesn't sound much better than a spider," Donut said.

"Does it hurt?" Simmons asked.

"No."

"Maybe we should try to take it off," Simmons suggested.

"Good idea. Go for it," Grif replied.

"Me? By "we" I meant "you". Asshole."

"Well somebody needs to get it off," Donut said. "Look, it might be dangerous," he began, and then the sphere exploded, and Donut's words ceased as the combination of impact, trauma, and having the living daylights scared out of him brought him to the ground headfirst.

"Son of a bitch!" Grif and Simmons both yelled.

Grif felt a punch that wrenched his shoulder, but when he turned around, he couldn't see anything. "Sim- Where'd he go?" he asked. He blanched in terror as he saw Simmons collapse in shock, but he didn't see a vapour trail or any kind of blur, like the black one that was in front of him.

The punch smashed into his visor, which barely stopped itself from shattering, and then something hit Grif in the gut. "Don't kill me, I'm too good looking to die!" Grif screamed, and then he felt a final blow on the back of his skull, and everything else faded to black.


	12. Down, But Not Out

_**Down, But Not Out**_

After the untimely death of Church, the important details had been gone over in the wee small hours of fearing imminent death from an attack by the Reds, including divvying up Church's gear (except for his armour of course, it was only polite). Caboose had wasted no time in poaching the sniper rifle, in order to allow himself to kill only, and he was very specific about the only, his enemies and not his teammates. He was currently employing it to observe the carnage at the other end of Blood Gulch. "Man... He is really kicking their asses," Caboose commented.

"How come I never get the fucking sniper rifle?" Tucker asked irritably.

Caboose lowered the rifle. "I'm really glad Tex is on our team and not theirs," he commented.

"Sure makes things a lot easier on us," Tucker agreed.

"Yeah. I think switching Tex for Church was a good trade."

"It definitely seems like your killing Church is starting to work out for us."

"Ya know, ya think so? You know, I was gonna say something but, uh, well you know, uh... nuh..."

"Did Tex get in the base?" Tucker asked.

Caboose raised the sniper rifle and he peered through it, spotting Tex entering the Red Base. "Yeah", he called.

"Blue Team, flag returned," a deep voice declared.

"What the...? Who said that?" Tucker asked in surprise, turning around to see the white spectre standing in front of him.

Church cleared his throat. "Sorry, that was me. I, uh, I guess I had something stuck in my throat. Your flag is back, by the way," he explained, hoping that they wouldn't ask how a ghost could have something stuck in his throat.

"Hey, it's Church!" Caboose cried turning around happily.

"Yeah, it's me. Hey, Caboose," Church replied.

"Hey, Church, what're you up to?" Caboose asked happily.

"Caboose, ah-huh-huh," Church laughed. "I'm not really here to make small-talk, okay? How'd you guys manage to get your flag back?"

"Wh-What?" Tucker asked. "Oh, th-that flag? We've always had that."

"Tucker, who do you think you're trying to fool?" Church asked. While he was hoping that Tucker didn't answer that question (he was starting to see a trend here), he looked around the top of the base. "Hey, wait a second... Where's Tex?" he asked suspiciously.

"I'm not really sure, he said he was gonna go to the store, something about uh, elbow grease," Tucker replied.

"Oh great," Church groaned. "This is so typical! What was the one thing I told you guys the last time I appeared?"

"That Sidewinder is cold..!?" Caboose asked cluelessly.

Church grunted, it was true, but it wasn't the answer that he was looking for. "What was the OTHER one thing I told you?" he said irritably.

"Not to let him get involved?" Tucker asked.

"Right. And what did you do?"

"...We let him get involved," Tucker sighed.

"And not just a little involved. How involved?"

"Very, very involved," Caboose admitted.

"Freeze," Sarge snapped, bursting in on Tex's left and levelling a shotgun in the Freelancer's face.

Lopez entered the base from Tex's right, trapping Tex in Red Base and covering her movements with pincer-sharp assault rifle motions.

"Drop your weapon," Sarge warned Tex.

Tex dropped the gun and glared at Sarge. "Hey, buddy."

"What?" Sarge snapped.

"You really better hope the first one knocks me out," Tex warned him, and Sarge let Tex have it, slamming the butt of his shotgun into Tex's head and knocking the Freelancer down and out.

"Ow, what the... My freakin' head. Jesus," Grif moaned as he got to his feet. Well, at least he wasn't dead, though being on the top of Red Base in Blood Gulch wasn't exactly the best substitute. Oh, who was he kidding, he'd take anything over death.

Simmons had been tending to Donut, who was still somehow intact. By some miracle, or possibly the long fuse on the explosive, Donut's armour had locked up and saved his life, restricting the total distance that his head could move as a result of the explosive in close proximity. Of course, one wasn't just going to shrug off having their head blown up. "He's hurt, Grif," Simmons called as he stood up. "He'll make it, but we need to get him some help fast."

"Yeah, yeah, hold on one second," Grif protested. "What happened here? W- First Donut's head exploded, and then you fainted, and then some black thing showed up and started-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait," Simmons protested. "I did not faint, something knocked me out."

"Okay fine, keep lying to yourself. Whatever helps you sleep at night," Grif commented as he stowed his rifle away and took out a pistol.

"Man, just go find Sarge, we need to get Donut outta here," Simmons growled.

"Yeah, sure," Grif muttered. "Oh, and uh, I'm fine by the way. Thanks for asking," he said angrily as he ran down the ramp.

"Whatever, no one likes you anyway," Simmons scoffed.

"Yep, he's definitely captured..." Caboose commented as he peered through the sniper scope. He could see the yellow-armoured Red soldier entering the base. "Or dead... Captured or dead. ..." and then he inhaled sharply as an epiphany struck his mind. "Or captured AND dead!" he gasped.

"Oh, well that's just PERFECT!" Church snapped.

"What!? What is your problem!? Why do you even care if he's captured?" Tucker asked. "I thought you hated that guy anyway for stealing your girlfriend."

"I never said I hated Tex," Church protested. "I just said that she was the reason why we never got married."

Both Tucker and Caboose tried to process the information that Church had just revealed.

"She?" Caboose asked.

"Sarge, we need to get Donut air-lifted outta here," Simmons called as he entered Red Base.

"Could you put that in a memo and entitle it "Shit I already know!""Sarge snapped. "Get on the horn with Command!" He turned back to Tex, and glared at the black-armoured soldier down the barrel of his shotgun as Lopez stood guard. "Well, look who's up," he commented. "Rise 'n' shine, buttercup."

Suddenly sparks erupted from Tex's right shoulder, throwing the Freelancer against the wall. Sarge could almost see the wince beneath Tex's helmet as she yelled, "Oh great... You broke my voice filter. You cock biting fucktards!"

"Ah-ha! I knew it! Only a chick could give me a headache this big!" Grif crowed.

There was a moment of silence between everyone before Tex broke the ice. "...What's the matter? You never seen a girl before? How long have you guys been out here?"


	13. Human Peer Bonding

_**Human Peer Bonding**_

"Let me get this straight..." Tucker said. "You're telling me that the guy that showed up here, scared the living shit out of us, shot at Caboose, and beat the hell out of the Reds wasn't a guy at all? That he was a chick? And, on top of that, she was your ex-girlfriend?"

"In a nutshell, yes. That's an excellent summary," Church admitted.

"I should have known..." Caboose whispered miserably. "She didn't like me... Girls never like me."

"Caboose, I don't think anybody likes you," Tucker remarked.

"I like me..." Caboose protested weakly.

"I don't think I've seen a girl that mean before," Tucker commented. "Are you sure she's a chick? And not a guy? Or like, part guy part shark?"

"I'm pretty sure I'd know if Tex was a guy," Church replied. "And I'm definitely sure I would know if she was part shark."

"Wait, oh wait, oh wait," Caboose protested. "If she's a girl, then why is she named Tex?"

"Uh... because she's from Texas," Church replied carefully.

Caboose didn't look convinced, and Church held back a sigh. "Trust me, it makes sense. And you can't blame her for being so aggressive. It's not entirely her fault to begin with."

"Right. You should blame God," Tucker suggested. "First he makes hangovers, and now, half women, half sharks that won't even sleep with me. Thanks for nothing, God!"

"Will you shut up with that?" Church asked angrily. "She got recruited into some kind of weird experimental program back during basic where they infused her armour with this _really_ aggressive A.I," he explained. "I'm not really sure how it all works, but all I know is it made her meaner and tougher than hell."

"A.I... What's the A stand for?" Caboose asked.

"Artificial," Church said patiently.

"...What's the I-

"Intelligence," Church interrupted.

"Ooohhhhhhhhh what was the A again?"

"Let's move on."

"So, the military put this program in her head and that program made her a killer, but underneath it all she's really just a sweet, down-home girl?" Tucker asked.

"Oh hell no," Church replied. "She's always been a rotten bitch. It's just now she's a rotten bitch with cybernetic enhancements."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Wow. Sounds like you really won the lottery with that one. Good catch there, buddy. She's a keeper."

"So how're you doing, Caboose?" Church asked. "Are you following any of this whatsoever?"

"I think so..." Caboose said, and then he proceeded to demonstrate just how much he clearly did not understand the situation. "That guy Tex is really a robot, and you're his boyfriend. So that makes you... a gay robot!

Church bit back a retort and he just replied, "Yeah... that's right... I'm a gay robot."

In all the operations of Blood Gulch Outpost Number One, with its history of lethargic drills, staff meetings, and general dicking around, there had never been such a situation as this; a gender ratio that was different than 1:0.

Grif and Simmons were quite enamoured by the fact that a lady was in Red Base for once, even if she was wearing more masculine armour than they'd have liked. "So, you're a girl, huh?" Grif asked.

Tex glared at him, and Simmons felt a minor stab of sympathy. "Just ignore him, that's what I do," he suggested.

"Not so tough now that we unloaded your weapon, are ya?" Grif crowed, and Simmons rolled his eyes.

He almost appreciated it when Tex told Grif, "Hey, punk, I don't need a weapon to kill you."

"Yeah, right. What're you gonna do? Punch me?" Grif asked.

Tex cracked a smile that Grif couldn't see and quickly leaned forwards.

"Ahh! Not in the face!" Grif screamed and he cringed in fear and leapt backwards. Simmons held back a smile himself before realizing that Grif couldn't see it and began sporting an even broader grin.

Back at Blue Base, Church was busy filling in the role that he'd performed while he was alive, and that hopefully he could continue to fill to a degree; that of the leader who took the blame when shit went wrong. Of course, getting killed was still Caboose's fault. "Well don't worry because I have a great plan for how we're gonna rescue Tex," he explained to his men.

Sadly, they weren't exactly inspired. "A plan? Oh, man, I hate plans," Tucker complained. "That means we're gonna have to do stuff. Can't we just have a strategy or a …mission statement?"

"I just need you guys to run a distraction, while I spring Tex," Church explained.

"Distraction?" Caboose asked worriedly. "Heh. That sounds a lot like "decoy"."

Church ignored him. "The way I see it, the Reds have absolutely no idea how many Freelancers we have out here," he explained. "So all I need from the two of you is to run around in the middle of the canyon, wearing black armour, while I sneak in the back of the base."

Tucker thought about the plan and decided that he actually liked it, seeing as the Reds had never sniped them in their lives so he didn't think they'd start now. "Sounds good," he admitted. "But Church, where the hell are we gonna get two suits of black armour?"

Church didn't reply, instead he turned the head of his ghostly body towards the green door of the teleporter.

Tucker turned and looked as well, and then realization dawned on him as he looked back at the ghost standing in front of him. "...Oh fuckberries..."


	14. Roomier Than It Looks

_**Roomier Than It Looks**_

With a gasp and the whine of the teleporter, Tucker stumbled onto the hill from the exit node. His armoured was covered in black grit and slightly smoked a little.

"Are you okay, Tucker?" Church asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Tucker replied, wiping grime of his pistol. He ran up to the top of the nearby hill where he could see the Blue Base. "Come on, Caboose!" he called.

"Does it hurt?!" Caboose asked.

"No, not at all!" Tucker reassured him.

"Okay! Here I come!" Caboose called, and he ran into the teleporter.

Church waited for a few seconds, and then he asked, "Does it hurt for real?"

"Ohh, yeah. Big time," Tucker replied. They turned to the teleporter, and they waited for Caboose to emerge.

"Owwwchie," Caboose moaned as he emerged from the teleporter, his armour charred black. He turned slowly to Tucker with a look behind his helmet that Tucker didn't think he'd like to have seen, especially since Caboose was pointing his pistol at Tucker. "You lied to me."

"Ah, dammit," Sarge cursed as he peered into the distance from the top of Red Base. "Lopez, c'mere," he called. "Do you see something out there?"

Lopez looked through the scope of the sniper rifle, and then he turned to Sarge and lowered his head.

Down beside Tex, Grif and Simmons were currently occupied in the task of guarding Tex. Given their usual track record of course, they were barely performing their task, but they were doing it well enough that Tex wasn't trying to escape, and bickering as usual.

"There's no L in it, it's pronounced both," Simmons said patiently.

"That's what I'm saying. Bolth," Grif replied.

"Both," Simmons growled.

"You sound like such an ass the way you say it," Grif commented.

"Grif!" Sarge yelled. "Quit your yammering and get your keister up here. Need some help. Got more of them Special Ops fellas headed toward the base."

"As in... more than one?" Grif asked in surprise. "Uh, maybe we should _bolth_ go, sir," he suggested.

"BOTH," Simmons snapped.

"Seriously, man, like an ass," Grif replied.

"Well, well," Sarge commented, and Grif realized what he was in for. "Another brilliant idea from the think tank," Sarge said. "Why don't you both come up? Leave the prisoner alone. We could just put her on the honour system - have her guard herself."

"Good point, sir," Grif said, attempting to slowly backpedal.

It didn't work. "YOU'RE GOD DAMN RIGHT IT IS!" Sarge roared. "Now get your ass up here. We got just enough time for me to spraypaint the bull's-eye on your back..." He realized what he'd said, and quickly added, "Ah, by bull's-eye I of course mean camouflage. Now move it, cupcake."

"Yeah..." Grif said, and he sighed heavily. "I'll be right up."

Church had discovered that his ghostly form didn't just come with what appeared to be a fully functional suit of armour – he could even use the radio – but in addition, it also came with a ghostly sniper rifle. It couldn't shoot bullets, or maybe it could, just ghostly ones, but it did allow him to use the scope to spy on his surroundings. "Hey, Tucker. Come in, man," he called. "You there? This is Church. It's working. The orange one is coming out of the base. I repeat; the orange one is coming out of the base."

"Roger that," Tucker called over the radio. He and Caboose were crouched behind a rock, and they were preparing to sprint between cover.

"Oh, oh oh oh, Tucker, Tucker, Tucker!" Caboose cried. "Is that… Is that Church?" he asked.

"Okay, now just keep moving around outside of the base, and draw their attention," Church said, but Caboose was blabbing in Tucker's ear and he missed the whole thing.

"Tell him, that I... that I said... for me to say hi...?"

"Whoa, wait, wait, hey. What?" Tucker asked turning in the direction of the cliffs. "I missed that, Caboose was talking to me. Shut up man, I'm on the radio."

 _Cut to Church._

"I said, just keep movin-" Church tried to tell Tucker.

Unfortunately for them, Tucker wasn't listening and he was instead yelling at Caboose. "I'm not yelling, I'm just telling you to let me finish talking to Church. ...No, I'll tell him you said "hi" later. No, you can't talk to him. How could you possibly talk to him on my headset?"

Church severed the connection and groaned, "Oh my god. I can't believe I actually died for this war."

Grif peered through the scope of his own sniper rifle across Blood Gulch, but he didn't spot Church up on the nearby hill (not that he ever did when Church was alive). "I don't see any-" he began, but then he saw a black armoured soldier running across the field. "Uh oh. Yep, there's one." To his surprise, the soldier stopped beside a rock, and he just stood there in the open.

Now, normally Grif's first instinct should have been to shoot the soldier, but he wanted to make sure that he had the whole picture and didn't want to piss Sarge off by possibly screwing up one of his plans. That and the likely probability of him having been too lazy to load the rifle. "...Why is he just standing there?" Grif asked in confusion.

"Caboose, get behind the rock. They can still see you," Tucker called from behind another rock.

"They can't see me. I can't see them!" Caboose replied.

"That's because you're facing the rock."

Caboose turned and he looked at the Red's base. "Oh. Right," he said, and he ducked behind the rock.

Tucker rolled his eyes and he did his utmost not to faceplant. "Real smooth, dipshit."

"They're definitely Special Ops," Sarge commented. "I ain't seen troop movements this coordinated since my days on Sidew-"

Before he could spin one of his glorious tales from his days at Sidewinder, Church's spectre entered him from behind. "Wa-kika-herger!" Sarge groaned as his mind shut down and Church took possession of his body.

"Sir, are you okay?" Grif asked in surprise.

Church cleared his new throat and bit back on the Southern accent in his throat "Uh, who you talking to, Red? Me?" he asked in a surly tone.

"No. I'm talking to Lopez," Grif replied. "Because, you know, that's real rewarding."

He dodged a swing from Lopez, and snapped, "Hey, what'd I tell you about that?"

"Oh, uh I-I'm fine, that's... I'm just so mad about, these uh, god damn Blues out here," Church stammered. "They got me so god damn mad, I could spit!" he cried, and before he could tell himself that this was an extremely dumb idea he horked one up and spat on his visor.

"...Um, sir? Did you just spit inside your own helmet?" Grif asked in disgust.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I did," Church replied.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"That's really fucking gross."

With their distraction successfully run (or so they assumed since Church wasn't barking orders at them) Tucker and Caboose were crouched behind a rock, waiting for- "Hey, Tucker?" Caboose asked.

"What?"

"I'm having a really good time... with... you."

"That's great, Caboose," Tucker muttered in annoyance before Caboose could finish.

"Yeah, it's like we're real soldiers," Caboose said excitedly.

"Would you please go hide behind another rock?" Tucker asked, ignoring the implied insult in Caboose's statement.

Church strolled into the basement to see the maroon-armoured soldier holding Tex at shotgun-point. "Hey, man. What's up, yo?" he called.

Simmons barely recognized Sarge's voice, and he turned around swiftly in surprise and pointed the shotgun at Church. Trying to prevent himself from crapping his pants at the idea of having pointed a gun at his superior officer, he asked, "Uh... hey...? What's going on out there, sir?"

"What's, uh... why nothin'. Why would you ask if somethin's wrong?" Church asked gruffly.

"I think that's a perfectly normal question in a time of war," Simmons noted.

"Yeah, well, I don't know," Church said, frantically trying to shift suspicion. "You're starting to act kinda suspicious there …other Red guy. So I'ma keep my eye on you," he finished lamely.

"Sarge, I'm starting to think that-" Simmons began as he turned around to keep an eye on Tex, but he never finished his statement; Church took advantage of Simmons' obliviousness to bash him over the head and knock him down. "Ow, geez, the back of my head!" Simmons yelped before he passed out.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Tex yelled in surprise. Sure, she was currently being hired by the Blue Team, but seeing team members fight like that was just wrong.

"Tex! It's me, Church! I've come to rescue you," Church cried, but he couldn't make Sarge sound enough like himself as he'd like.

"You're kind of short to be Church," Tex noted.

"What?" Church asked in confusion. "Oh yeah, right. The armour." He concentrated and he tried to step to the side without stepping to the side. Somehow his mind figured out how to make this impossibility work, and his spectre stepped out of Sarge's body.

Sarge choked as he instantly regained consciousness. "Hurk! What in Sam Hell? Where the- Who spit on my visor?" he asked in confusion.

"Tex, there's not much time to explain, so I'm just gonna give you the summary here, okay?" Church explained. "I'm a spirit now, and I'm trapped in the physical world. I possessed this Red guy so that I could sneak in to the base and rescue you while the rest of our guys run around out in the middle of the canyon dressed in black armour that they got from going through the teleporter."

"...Okay," Tex replied.

"What? That's it? Okay? You're not surprised by any of this?" Church asked.

"No. It pretty much all makes sense," Tex reassured him.

"Not even the whole "Church is a ghost" thing?" Church asked in disappointment. "That didn't do anything for ya?

"I can see right through you, it's pretty obvious..." Tex noted.

Church considered the statement and he shrugged; it did kinda make sense. "Okay, well, let me hop back in this guy, and we'll get outta here," he suggested, and he stepped back into Sarge's body. Sarge (who had simply stood there in utter confusion) groaned as his mind shut down again. "Huuurk!"

"What're you doing?" Tucker asked, raising an eyebrow upon seeing Caboose with the fucking sniper rifle _again_.

"One of the Reds has Tex," Caboose explained as he spotted the pair through the scope. "I'm going to shoot him, and kill him, and free Tex. Then Church will forgive me for killing him, and we will be friends."

"Oh, come on. You don't actually believe any of that, do you?" Tucker asked.

Scarily, Caboose _did_ seem to believe him as he trained the scope on the red-armoured soldier's head. "Ohhh, we're gonna be best friends," he said, and Tucker shuddered.

"Alright, I'll make one more distraction, then you run up to the teleporter and escape," Church said to Tex. "Ready? One... Two... Three!"

A booming retort echoed through the canyon, and the bullet pierced Sarge's helmet and dropped him to the ground instantly, leaving Church's spectre standing there clueless as to what had happened. He hadn't even felt the pain.

"What the? Where did my body go?" Church asked in surprise. Then he realised who the only other person in the canyon was that would shoot him (or rather, his current body) with a sniper rifle was, and he yelled, "Oh, you've gotta be KIDDING me!"

"Tucker did it!"


	15. How the Other Half Lives

_**How the Other Half Lives**_

Sarge ran up the hill through a world that was more horrible than Blood Gulch through some galactic miracle; a canyon just like Blood Gulch, but duller in colour and echoing in sound.

"Hello?" Sarge called. "... Hello? I said hello? Hello, is anybody out here?"

"Holy cow, would you stop yelling?" Church asked. "I'm here," he called as he ran up to Sarge.

"What is this place?" Sarge asked.

"Well, that's... kinda hard to explain," Church admitted. "Um... You were shot in the head, buddy. So, here ya are."

"Am I dead?" Sarge asked.

"Are you dead? Well, yeah, that's how I ended up here."

"Are you some kinda angel?" Sarge asked sceptically.

Church began chuckling as he pinpointed a perfect opportunity to screw with the Red Leader. "Aheh heh heh… am I an angel," he chuckled. "Uh," he muttered, clearing his throat and trying again, "Yeah, actually, I am. I'm an angel. Um, do you wanna go to Heaven? 'Cause it's, like, ten bucks to get in."

Sarge was quite surprised by this little piece of (mis)information. "Well I, uh, I didn't really bring any…" he stammered."I mean; my wallet's back in the car."

"Hey, you don't have it there, huh?" Church commented. "Well uh... that's too bad. Pretty crappy reason to be damned to Hell for an eternity," he noted.

Sarge started to see a hole in this whole "being dead" theory. "I don't remember dyin'," he noted.

Church at least had the gall to sound sheepish. "Yeah, that's my fault too," he admitted. "I was... sort of possessing your body at the time that you were shot. Sorry about that."

"Hold on a second, that ain't fair," Sarge protested.

"Not fair?" Church asked. "Yeah, join the frickin' club. I got shot by my own tank."

 _"_ _Target locked,"_ Shelia declared, and Sarge tried not to jump out of his boots at the sight of the nearby tank, before berating himself and remembering that he was in theory _already_ dead.

"Oh ha ha, very funny Sheila," Church muttered. "Shut up. You know I still haven't forgiven you. I didn't say you could talk to me yet." He nodded towards the Blue Base. "Go there, g-get, go over by the base. Shoo, shoo!"

To Sarge's astonishment, the tank heeded Church's words, lowered its turret in shame, and drove away.

"Sarge!" Grif yelled as he leant over the blood-splattered body of his commanding officer. "Don't you give up on me soldier, do you hear me? I'm ordering you!"

Sarge heard the muffled voice and he looked around in surprise. "Who is that? Who's there?" he asked.

"Looks like your guys are trying to save you,' Church suggested.

Grif smashed the butt of his assault rifle into Sarge's armoured chest. "You gotta breathe, man! You gotta pull through! Come on, Sarge!" he cried.

"That is not the way you were trained to do that, Private!" Sarge snapped.

"He can't hear you," Church said helpfully.

"Grif, this isn't working," Simmons commented. "We have to try something else."

"If he gives you mouth to mouth, I'm leaving."

"...Maybe you should give him mouth to mouth," Simmons suggested.

"I'm leaving."

"I can't believe how hard they're trying to save me," Sarge said in amazement. After all he'd put them through…

"Why wouldn't they?" Church asked. "I mean, my team didn't," _because they were lazy pricks_ , he added in his head, "but, why wouldn't yours?"

Sarge remembered all the death threats, the staff meetings, all the failed plans to begin offensives against those dirty Blues, and he admitted, "I thought they didn't like me."

"Aw, don't sell yourself short," Church reassured him. "I don't even know ya, and here I am about to guide you to Heaven for only five bucks."

"Hold on, if you're an angel, how come you ain't got no wings?" Sarge asked, seeing another hole in the whole "being dead" thing.

"Because nobody rang a bell, ah heh heh heh heh," Church chuckled, before returning to business. "Seriously, do you have the money or don't you?" he asked.

"Oh, I feel the worst about Grif," Sarge lamented. "I always made fun of him." He took a deep breath and prepared to reveal his darkest secret. "I never even told him… he was my son."

"No way!" Church cried. "The orange guy is your son?"

"Nah, I just wanted to screw with him one last time," Sarge said with a grin. "But now I'll never get that chance," he lamented.

Grif sucked in a breath and got to his feet. "He's breathing! We saved Sarge!" he cried.

"I'm what?"

"He's what?"

"Well, I'll be a monkey's..." Sarge gasped. "They saved me."

"What? No, come back! We need to even the sides!" Church protested.

"Thanks for your help, wingless angel fella!" Sarge called. His voice began to fade from Church's hearing. "Will I remember any of this?"

"Yes, but only if you give me two dollars!" Church protested desperately.

Sarge opened his eyes and winced. By some miracle, the bullet had pierced his helmet, but had only scoured the side of his head and sent him into shock. His head throbbed in a line and he felt sick – but he was alive. He clutched his pistol for comfort and then he climbed to his feet with a wince. Sarge felt the pain again and he did his best to ignore it. "There," he muttered, his pain fading a little. "What... What happened here?" he asked.

"Sir, you got shot in the head, so we gave you CPR and saved you, sir," Simmons explained.

"I always believed in you, Simmons," Sarge said proudly.

"Uh, actually, it's Grif you should thank, sir," Simmons admitted. "He did all the work."

"Grif?" Sarge asked.

 _Aw, fuck_ , Grif thought.

"Yes, sir," Simmons replied.

"Grif, why in Hell would you give somebody CPR for a bullet wound in the head!?" Sarge asked incredulously. "That doesn't make a lick of sense."

Grif sighed. _Figures._ "You're welcome, sir," he commented.

"I mean it's all so damn inconsistent!" Sarge continued. "What would you do if they stabbed me in the toe? Rub my neck with aloe vera?" He thought of another insult and chuckled. "Hey there, Grif! I think I feel an aneurysm comin' on. Could you help me out with one of them therapeutic mass-ag-es?"

Grif rolled his eyes and he hit Sarge in the back with his rifle.

"...Use your fingers, not your knuckles," Sarge advised without missing a beat. "...That there, that's good. Lower back. Yeah, I can feel that working already. Don't be afraid to go too low." He paused for a while and then he moaned, "...oh yeah, shiatzu."


	16. A Slightly Crueler Crueller

_**A Slightly Crueler Crueller**_

After the slew of cranial injuries and mental trauma, events at Red Base had calmed down slightly. Sarge had been properly patched up, Grif and Simmons had recovered, and Donut had finally returned to Blood Gulch.

"Dude, this is sweet! Command was so happy that I got the Blue flag, they gave me my own colour armour!" Donut cried as he walked up the ramp to the top of the base.

Grif and Simmons looked at each other in abject shock, and then they turned back to Donut.

Now, to be fair, when your head gets blown up it is unlikely that one's armour would survive fully functional. A new set of armour would thus be expected if not outright essential. And Command understood that Donut had wanted his own armour colour, something that would make him stand out from all the Reds in the world.

Of course, Donut had taken separation to the extreme and selected the colour that was both as red and different as he could find. He had selected…pink.

"Uh... hey, Donut?" Grif asked.

"What?"

"Um, about your armour..." Simmons began.

"What about it?"

"How do I put this...?" Simmons mused. "Your armour is, um... It's a little, um... Grif, uh, you wanna help me out here?"

Grif obliged with his characteristic bluntness and said, "It's pink. Your armour is frickin' pink!"

Simmons decided that for once being respectful wasn't going to cut it and agreed. "Yeah, that's it. Pink."

"Pink?" Donut asked. "My armour's not pink!"

"PINK," Grif replied.

"Yeah, definitely pink," Simmons commented.

"You guys are colour-blind," Donut said huffily. "Why would they give me pink armour?"

Grif was struggling to prevent himself from laughing, especially at the irony of the colour-blind comment. "Hey, don't ask, don't tell," he chuckled.

As Grif failed to keep himself from laughing and he burst out in giggles, Simmons felt a little guilty and reprimanded him, "Heh, that's not funny."

Grif laughed a little more before commenting, "It's a little funny."

"Look at it, it's not pink," Donut protested. "It's like, uh... a "lightish red"."

"Guess what? They already have a colour for lightish red," Grif told him. "You know what it's called? Pink."

"I hate you guys."

Sarge chose this moment to run up the ramp with Lopez in tow. "Well hello, dirtbags," he commented cheerfully before turning to Donut and adding politely, "...and a fine hello to you, madam."

"It's LIGHT red," Donut groaned.

"Don't get your panties in a wad there, Barbie," Sarge retorted. "Do you have a package for me?" he asked.

"Yes sir," Donut replied.

"Excellent," Sarge said in satisfaction.

Donut unlimbered a device that resembled two blue cylinders joined by a hilt. "They said this speech unit should work with Lopez," he explained.

"Speech unit?" Grif asked.

Donut carefully handed the unit over to Sarge. "Here you go."

"Affirmative," Sarge replied, before he began explaining the boring details. "Command was fresh out of speech modules when I started building Lopez, but once I get this baby installed, I'll finally have someone intelligent to talk to," he explained, before he realised his mistake. "...No offense, Simmons."

"Oh, don't worry, I know who you meant, sir," Simmons replied dutifully.

Rather than be insulted, Grif was still trying to come to terms with a very strange revelation that had only just been made fully apparent to him. "Wait a second... Lopez is a robot?" he asked.

"Of course he is," Simmons replied. "You didn't notice that he never talks?"

"I just thought he was a really quiet guy."

"And the fact that he sleeps standing up and drinks motor oil didn't get your attention?" Sarge commented with such an air in his voice that Grif could see the raised bushy eyebrows through the helmet.

"Well I-I did think the motor oil thing was a bit odd..." Grif admitted. "Uh, I just thought he was trying to impress me."

Sarge rolled his eyes and he raised the speech unit, with a card already loaded, ready for the unit to extract the opening from Lopez and load the card into the robot.

"Hey, sir. You really should ground yourself before handling that card," Simmons advised.

"How come?" Sarge asked as he aligned the unit.

"Because static could damage the card," Simmons explained.

Sarge snorted. "Come on. That's an urban legend they use to sell those stupid bracelets," he said derisively.

Grif and Simmons exchanged a look and decided to just let this shit happen.

"And I suppose Pop Rocks and soda's gonna make my stomach blow up!" Sarge snorted. He slid the speech unit forwards and he inserted the card into the exposed slot.

An electrical discharge surrounded Lopez's armour, running through the card and the speech unit and into Sarge's hands. "YOW!" Sarge cried as he jumped back and he shook his hands furiously, leaving the shorted-out unit to clatter to the floor.

"Sir. I won't say I told you so, sir," Simmons said.

"Good," Sarge muttered, getting a grip on his pistol to calm his nerves. "I'd hate to make Strawberry Shortcake here my new favourite Private."

"It's not pink, it's lightish red!" Donut protested.

Poor Caboose was panting as he and Tucker scrubbed at his armour. "Ah, man, uh, you know, this stuff does not come off easy?" he commented.

"Yeah, this was a lot easier when we were cleaning just my armour," Tucker admitted. If he hadn't been wearing his helmet…and his hands hadn't been covered in black stuff…and his own armour hadn't just been recently cleaned…he might have ran his hands through his hair.

"Yeah, I know that, that's I think because you know, uh, YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING," Caboose retorted.

"I'm sorry, what?" Tucker asked. "It's kind of hard to hear you over the sound of your constant team-killing."

Tucker kind of had a point (even if it wasn't really Caboose's fault), but Caboose was a little too pissed to think about that right now and he commented, "Ah, ah, aaahhhh ha ha ha ha ah yeah, ah yeah aha, ahhhhhhhhhhhhh... Don't make me mad."

Tucker decided to be quiet for a little.

After Sarge's spectacular screw-up, he was busy working on Lopez without any electronic aid whatsoever, leaving his mean to do what they did best; gossip.

"So, what happened to me anyway?" Donut asked. "I recall something about a spider on my head?"

"Right. That was a grenade," Grif explained.

"And the last thing I remember... is a loud bang... and then Simmons fainting..." Donut mused.

"Ha! Told you so!" Grif crowed.

"I did not faint," Simmons said angrily.

"Done and done," Sarge called, interrupting a potential argument between the rest of his team. He stood up and spoke in a deep, commanding tone; "Lopez. Activate speech unit!"

Static crackled through the air, and Lopex finally spoke – in a deep, robotic voice that brushed aside any clinging doubts that he wasn't a robot. "Buenos días. Y la gracias da por activar mi función del discurso. Soy el número de modelo cero uno cero uno uno tres cuatro ocho ocho dos tres."

Donut had done some language work in the past, but he didn't have a clue what Lopez was saying. "Am I the only one not understanding any of this?" he asked.

"Me llamo es Lopez," Lopez declared.

"Lopez, he just said Lopez!" Grif cried happily. "I understood that. I can speak Spanish!"

Sarge bit back an insult and he addressed Lopez instead. "Lopez, speak English," he ordered.

"Mi procesador Inglés tiene malfunctioned," Lopez explained. "Sé habla solamente español."

"Huh," Simmons mused. "I think you shorted out his speech unit with that static, sir," he suggested.

"Maybe Princess Peach here picked up the wrong model," Sarge snarked.

"Seriously, dude. For the last time: Not pink," Donut said.

"Lopez. I order you to speak a language we understand," Sarge ordered.

"Negativo," Lopez replied.

"Well this is just dandy," Sarge groaned. "Lopez, HOW - DO - WE - FIX - YOUR - SPEECH - U-NIT?" he asked, annunciating every word clearly and completely missing the point of it all.

Even Grif could see that Sarge had the wrong idea. "Why are you talking so slow?" he asked. "He understands us just fine. Maybe you should try listening slower."

Sarge grinned and decided to test Grif's observation. "Lopez, would you like to shoot Grif?" he asked.

"Sí señor. Gracias," Lopez said.

Lopez raised his gun, and Grif realized right there and then that he'd learnt three words of Spanish, and then that he might possibly be screwed. "No, stop! Uh, alto, alto!" he protested.

"Alto means tall, you dumbass," Simmons replied, without showing any concern for the gun pointed at Grif's face.

"Then why do they put it on stop signs?" Grif protested as he tried to dodge Lopez's pistol.


	17. Points of Origin

_**Points of Origin**_

Tucker was watching as Church bickered with someone other than him for once. He thought that it would have been Caboose, which was admittedly an excellent judgment on his part, but no, he was currently watching the lover's spat between Church and Tex.

"As far as I'm concerned, I'm square with you," Tex explained.

Caboose and Tucker simultaneously turned to face Church, continuing a trend that had been going for the last hour as Church did his best to keep Tex in the canyon (which was admittedly a difficult prospect considering that Church himself wasn't exactly keen on staying there.)

"I saved you from a life of imprisonment," Church complained. "How the hell are you square with me?

Caboose and Tucker simultaneously turned to Tex to hear her answer.

"Because _I_ didn't kill you back at Sidewinder," Tex replied.

Ignoring Tucker and Caboose following the conversation with their heads, Church remarked, "You know, I don't really see how not killing somebody is the same thing as doing them a favour."

"Well, if you don't appreciate it, _(Tucker and Caboose turned to Tex)_ I could just kill you right now."

"No, you can't!" Church laughed triumphantly. "I'm already dead, bitch! I guess the joke's on you!"

"Stop it!" Caboose cried. "Stop fighting. Can't you see that you're tearing us apart? WHAT ABOUT US?" he yelled sadly.

"What about you?" Tex asked matter-of-factly (and all the while hoping that this wasn't going to descend from a lover's spat into a misguided family drama).

Thankfully even Caboose wasn't that dumb. "We helped you too. And what do we get? Nothing!" he cried.

"Well yeah, but..."

"Yeah, but nothin'," Church interrupted. "He's got a point," he said, something that he never thought that he'd say. Ever.

"I did help them get the flag back," Tex pointed out.

"Yeah, but you were paid to do that," Tucker explained. "We rescued you as a favour. We could have just let you rot in the Red Army prison; it wouldn't have made any difference to us."

"Fine, I'll stay here as long as it takes to help you guys win this thing," Tex offered. "As soon as I have, I'm out of here." Not one to stand around bickering with Church and Tucker and do nothing she immediately asked, "What do you need me to do?"

"I have no idea," Tucker replied. "If you knew how to fix a tank, I would have you do that."

Tex considered the idea and then replied, "...Okay."

"Wait, you-you know how to fix Sheila?" Caboose gasped. "...I love you."

Had Church been solid, he gladly would have pistol whipped Caboose over the head, and he was most disappointed when Tex apparently recognized the innocence of Caboose's affection for the tank and didn't kill Caboose.

In addition to the near constant sounds of socket wrenches, Grif and Simmons' bickering, and Donut's recent denials of his armour, the ambient noise of Red Base had acquired a new addition; badly spoken Spanish.

"Entonces la décias "tu nos pesos más, yo peso más." Entonces pusieron los de nuestros cuerpos sobre la escala y fue determinado quién tenía el peso más grande. Después de eso me llamarían Lopez la Pesado," Lopez explained.

"Man. First he doesn't talk at all, and now we can't get him to shut up," Grif complained. "What's he saying?" he asked Simmons.

"What're you asking me for?" Simmons asked in confusion.

"Well, you know, because you're of, uh, a Latino persuasion," Grif replied awkwardly.

"Simmons isn't a Spanish name, you dumbass," Simmons retorted. "I'm Dutch-Irish."

"But I thought-"

"What?"

"Eh, never mind."

There were a few seconds of silence before Donut said, "...I'm from Iowa."

"Nobody cares!" Grif and Simmons yelled in unison.

Tucker and Caboose tiptoed behind the overturned tank, pistols at the ready just in case the Reds saw them.

Church obviously had the same fears, but he did his best to assure his men. "Okay, take it easy guys," he said. "When I was over at the Red Base, I saw that they've already got their jeep fixed. So whatever you do, don't let 'em see us before we get Sheila back online."

"Okay, okay," Caboose replied. Then he realised something, and he added, "Even if we get Sheila fixed, how are we going to turn her over? I mean it's not as if we could just lift-"

There was a large thump as Tex flipped the tank over with her bare (well, not quite bare, but armour and badass-assisted) hands.

"Oh. She is a very strong lady," Caboose noted.

"I'm the one that's the least visible, so I'm gonna head up here to higher ground," Church explained as he looked up at the cliff. "I'll keep an eye on the Red Base. If I see anything, I'll let you know."

"Great, I'll come with you!" Caboose said cheerfully.

"That kinda defeats the purpose, Caboose."

"Okay," Caboose replied, before suggesting, "What if I'm really..." and he spoke more softly, "really..." now he was whispering, "quiet?"

"Do you even understand what the term "visibility" means?" Church asked sceptically.

"Ah hah hah," Caboose laughed before he said, "uhh... good one, Church."

"Seriously. You don't know what it means, do you?"

"Uh, no..."

Church resisted the urge to shake his spectre's head. "Caboose, just stay here, man, and try not to swallow your tongue or anything like that," he told him.

"Just watch the Red Base, and tell us if you see any movement," Tucker suggested, before joining Tex by the tank where she was already working.

He resisted the urge to flirt with the incredibly dangerous lady and decided to start with complimentary small talk, "So, I suppose if you're helping us, you're not as mean as I thought," he said.

Tex deactivated the welding torch that was attached to her pistol and turned to Tucker. "I wouldn't say I'm mean; I just get hired to do mean things," she explained.

"Yeah, but you like it," Tucker pointed out.

"Well, I think it's important to enjoy what you do," Tex explained.

 _Fair enough,_ Tucker thought. "So let's say I paid you to kill Caboose," he suggested, casting a glance at his dim-witted ally. "You would still do it, right? Even though you're supposed to be helping us?"

"Is this a hypothetical discussion, or should we start talking numbers?" Tex asked with an eager edge in her voice near the end.

Thoroughly creeped out, Tucker decided that, "Yeah, I don't wanna talk about this anymore."

"Hey, Tucker!" Church yelled from the ledge.

"What?!" Tucker yelled, and then he thought, _Hey, wasn't that where he got…_

"What the hell is my body still doing up here?"

 _Yep,_ Tucker thought. "That's part of being dead, Church," he explained. "Your body doesn't really move around much anymore. Maybe you haven't fully grasped the concept yet."

"Alright, well let me rephrase that then: Why in the hell haven't you buried my body yet?" Church asked angrily.

"Buried? With what?" Tucker asked. "All we have are pistols and rifles. What do you want me to do, shoot you a grave?"

"Well then how about shipping me back home?" Church suggested in frustration. "You know; let the loved ones pay a little respect."

"Well Church, here's your girlfriend," Tucker replied. "Tex, as one of Church's loved ones, would you like to pay your respects?"

Tex just turned around, reactivated her torch, and started to work on Shelia again.

Tucker almost grinned in satisfaction. "That was a stirring eulogy. Rest in peace, good buddy!" he called.


	18. SPF 0

_**SPF 0**_

Eventually Church's bitching and Tex's short fuse resulted in Tucker and Caboose being sent up to the ledge where Church's body lay on the ground.

"I am not happy about this," Church said as they stared down at his corpse.

"I have an idea," Caboose suggested, but Tucker and Church ignored him. Caboose assumed that they hadn't heard him (he was trying to lower his visibility after all) so he yelled, "...I HAVE AN IDEA!"

"Yeah, we heard you the first time, Caboose, we were just ignoring you," Tucker explained.

Caboose brushed off that comment and suggested to Church, "Since you possessed that Red guy, and took control of him, why don't you just possess your own body?"

"Oh I see, so that way I would be living inside of my own dead body," Church commented.

If he expected Caboose to register the sarcasm, Church would have been disappointed. Of course he was wising up to Caboose's intelligence levels by now, so he wasn't surprised when Caboose simply replied, "Yes."

"Unable to move, just, laying there, rotting in the sun for all eternity," Church continued.

"Yes."

Resisting the urge to sigh, Church replied, "Okay, Caboose, I'll be sure to get right on that."

"I think you are a mean ghost," Caboose said tearfully.

 _Now he gets it,_ Church thought with a roll of his spectral eyes.

"Dude, you really stink," Tucker said.

The comment caught Church off guard; he stunk? He was a freaking ghost! "What?" he asked.

Tucker realized what Church was confused about and he explained, "Your body, it stinks."

"Tucker, the first chance we get, you are going to bury my body," Church ordered.

"Quit your bitching, nothing's going to happen to it."

"It's a freaking indignity!" Church protested. "My body fought hard for this army, and it deserves to be laid to rest." _For whatever reason it fought so hard for this damn army…_

"Get over it, you're already dead," Tucker told him. "What's the worst that could happen now?"

"Hey, Church, look, birds!" Caboose called, and he took aim at the sky. "Why are they flying around in circles?" he asked in confusion as he followed them with his pistol.

"Nuh, God," Church sighed.

Grif and Simmons had reached rock bottom, now their practices and their humour were scraping the bottom of the barrel. "Okay, I'll go again," Grif mused. "I spy something... that begins with..."

"Dirt," Simmons interrupted.

"Damn! How did you-"

"Well, because you did rock last time. That's all that's out here, is rock and dirt."

Grif took a moment to think about the statement and then he followed it up with one of his own, a profound and simple judgment. "Yeah, this canyon sucks."

Tucker and Church watched Tex fix the tank from the cliff's edge, while they had Caboose behind Tucker looking through the sniper rifle at the Red Base. Tucker had tried to get hold on it, but Caboose's insistence on dibs and Church's not giving a fuck had meant that he once again missed out on the sniper rifle.

"How long do you figure until Tex fixes the tank?" Church asked.

"Not much longer," Tucker replied. He elaborated before Church could press him for info. "She said it's going pretty well. The gun's almost working, and then she'll get it moving again."

"Oh, that's just fantastic," Church sighed sarcastically.

"Why would that upset you?" Tucker asked. _Question of my life, why does everything upset him?_

"Because as soon as she gets the tank online, she's gonna use it against the Reds, and they're all gonna die," Church explained.

Tucker couldn't quite figure out what Church was on about. "The Reds dying is a good thing," he reminded Church.

"No, Tucker, it's not a good thing," Church replied. "As soon as we beat the Reds, Tex is outta here. And I still haven't figured out a way to get that A.I. out of her head," he explained.

"A.I. ..." Caboose mused.

"Shut up, Caboose," Church snapped before turning his attention back to Tucker. "And if I don't get it out before she leaves..." he explained.

"If she leaves you won't ever find her again," Tucker finished.

"Right," Church said with a nod.

"So what're you gonna do?" Tucker asked.

"I guess I'm gonna do the only thing that I can do," Church mused. "I have to warn the Reds before she fixes the tank."

 _Wait, WHAT?!_ Tucker thought. "You're switching sides?" he asked incredulously.

"Sorry, guys. I don't have much choice," Church said in apology.

"Church, uh, wha-what happens when the Reds out here… to stop Tex, and then they come also with guns and they find us...?" Caboose asked in a small voice.

"I'll try to help you as best I can," Church reassured Caboose. "Good luck, guys," he called before fading away.

Caboose and Tucker waited before Caboose finally said, "Does this mean I should try to kill Church now?"

"I tell you what: kill me," Tucker suggested sarcastically. "I promise not to come back."

Caboose suddenly spotted something pink through the scope and he cried, "Hey! LOOK AT THIS." He focused the scope on the pink-armoured soldier that he could see at the Red Base.

"No," Tucker replied.

"They have A GIRL," Caboose cried. "They have a girl!" he repeated like a little kid.

"A what?" Tucker asked in surprise, trying to wrap his brain around the impossibility of the statement.

"A girl, a girl!" Caboose cried. "Look! Pink armour!"

Tucker squinted at the base with what little zoom he could get and he could indeed see a spot of pink. "Oh man, how come they get a girl?" he complained.

"Uh, you guys realize that I'm a chick, right?" Tex called from the bottom of the cliff. "And that I'm standin' right here?" she added.

"Yeah, Tex, but when we say a girl, we mean a girl-girl," Tucker replied.

"And what the hell does that mean?" Tex snapped.

Caboose and Tucker took a second to evaluate what they'd just said and the possible consequences of said actions before simultaneously backing away from the lip of the cliff with a cry of, "Nothing!"

Tucker was just congratulating himself on avoiding either death or a swift rebuke when he realized something. "Wait a second," he said. "If Tex heard that, do you think she heard Church's secret plan to warn the Reds about her?" he asked Caboose.

"I don't know... but I think I know how to find out," Caboose replied. He tentatively peeked over the edge of the cliff again and called, "Hey...! Tex!"

Tex turned and looked at him, and Caboose nervously asked, "Uh... Did you hear Church's secret plan to tell the Reds that you were fixing the tank?"

Without a word, Tex turned back to the tank and sparks began flying from her torch again with a purpose.

Caboose thought for a second and then he scooted back to Tucker. "I don't think she knows," he said before considering something. "...Unless she can read minds... She can't read minds, can she? ...Can you hear what I'm thinking?"


	19. Last One Out, Hit the Lights

_**Last One Out, Hit the Lights**_

Grif and Simmons were stuck in a loop. They'd reached the bottom of the barrel, scraped the last vestiges out, cleaned the splinters and turned it inside out. Now they only had what had been in the barrel to entertain themselves until their minds could figure out what to do with a different barrel.

"Hey," Simmons said.

"Yeah?" Grif replied.

"You ever wonder why we're here?" Simmons asked.

Remembering the _last_ time that they'd had this conversation, Grif replied, "No. I never, ever, wonder why we're here. Semper Fi, bitch."

Lopez suddenly uttered an intelligible grunt that was easier to understand than most of the stuff that he'd said since receiving his speech unit. "Keegakergerk!"

"What? What's wrong with Lopez?" Simmons asked in surprise, and he and Grif turned to Lopez.

Grif had already lost interest and replied, "I don't care."

Simmons ignored him and addressed Lopez. "Hey, Lopez, uh... you okay, man?" he asked.

Church felt quite strange, though not entirely unfamiliar, and he shook himself a little, before noticing the two Red soldiers standing in front of him. "Guys, I need to give…you a… warning," he began to say, but then he realized that what he was saying didn't match up with the words coming out of his mouth. "Aye, muchachos, necesité darle... un aviso..."

He tasted the words for a bit and asked, "What?"

"¿Qué?"

 _Spanish?,_ Church thought in surprise. "Why am I speaking Spanish?" he asked. "I don't know Spanish!"

"¿Por qué estoy el hablar en español? ¡Yo no puedo hablar español!"

"Um... Sure..." Simmons said; having just remembered why they'd stopped talking to Lopez.

"No, listen to me!" Church protested. "The mean woman is going to kill you! She is fixing the tank!"

"¡No, no, escucha mé! ¡La bruja teva a matar! ¡Ella está travajando en la tanque!"

Tucker was keeping an eye on Tex as she worked on Shelia, and when her torch shut down and didn't start back up again, he groaned, "Aw, crap." He turned back to Caboose in irritation. "Caboose, she's almost done fixing Sheila. I better radio Church and tell him what's going on."

Caboose tried to prevent himself from squealing in excitement, and halfway succeeded, yelping, "Oh! Oh! Oh! Tucker, please! Please! Tucker! Tucker! Tucker! Tucker, please! Tuck-"

"Yes, you can be the one who radios Church."

"Thanks, man," Caboose said eagerly, and he flipped on his radio. "Calling Church," he called. "Come in, Church. This is your close, personal friend, Private O'Malley."

"O'Malley?" Tucker asked in surprise. "You said your name was Caboose."

"I never said that, you guys did!" Caboose protested.

"Why didn't you correct us?" Tucker asked.

"Because I didn't want to be difficult," Caboose – O'Malley – fuck it, Tucker was just going to keep calling him Caboose – explained. Caboose activated his radio again and he called, "Come in, Private Church. Do you copy? Soldier unit Tex almost has the armour vehicle situation rectified. Okay. We require verification of your... mission...ness." Caboose paused to evaluate what he'd decide, decided that it was okay, and asked, "How is your progression?"

"Caboose!" Church called desperately. "No one here is listening to me! I can only speak Spanish for some reason!"

 _"¡Caboose! ¡Nadie aquí está escuchando mí! ¡No mas puedo hablar español!"_ Caboose heard Church cry.

After careful consideration of what Church had said and the likelihood of pissing him off if he got what he said wrong, Caboose turned to Tucker and said, "...He says he wants to talk to you."

 _"_ _Thank you for activating the M808V Main Battle Tank,"_ they heard Shelia declare.

"Oh shit. We got trouble," Tucker groaned.

"Un tanque... grrrande!" Lopez cried in lighter tones.

"Hey. I think if you're gonna live in this country, you should speak the language," Grif replied.

Neither of them heard Shelia declare in the distance. _"_ _Target locked."_

Simmons had missed the declaration too since he was too busy processing Grif's idiotic statement. "What country?" he asked in confusion. "We're on an alien planet."

"What're you, a communist?" Grif asked.

They were fortunately interrupted when Shelia opened fire and a tungsten shell slammed into the side of Red Base, throwing dust into the air and shaking the canyon.

"Son of a bitch!" Grif and Simmons both screamed.

Church screamed, "SON OF A BITCH!" as well, but all Grif and Simmons heard was Lopez crying, "¡MADRE DE DIOS!"

"Okay, I'm getting really sick of asking people what's going on through that sniper rifle," Tucker complained as Caboose scoped in on the Red Base.

"Church is getting mad at us," Caboose explained.

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Ohhhhh. Well that's a nice change of pace," he commented.

Sarge ran towards the Warthog, stowing his weapons and smoothly hoisting himself into the driver's seat. He hadn't counted on those dirty Blues being able to fix the tank so quickly – Grif and Simmons hadn't even reported that it was being fixed, but that didn't matter now, now was a time for action and glorious Red victory.

He started up the Warthog and radioed Simmons at the same time. "Simmons, I'm coming around in the Warthog. Get ready to take the gunner position when I come by," he ordered.

"Roger that," Simmons replied.

The tank fired again, and Grif nervously replied, "I'll uh... I'll stay here."

"Yeah. Stay here, and guard this cement ramp," Simmons commented, his voice positively _dripping_ with sarcasm. "It's _vital_ to our success."

Sarge skidded near the base, and Simmons, displaying remarkable agility, leapt off the base and into the Warthog's turret. He steadied himself and grasped the handles of the turret. "Alright, I'm on board," he called, and they took off.

"Alright, here's the plan-" Sarge began, but his words were cut short when the tank fired and hit the rear passenger tire, blowing it off and catapulting the Warthog into the air – and launching Simmons and Sarge out of the vehicle.

"JUNEBUG!" Sarge screamed as he tucked and rolled to minimize the impact.

Grif watched as Sarge ran (and Simmons) limped up the concrete ramp. "Wow, back so soon?" he asked. "You guys win the war already?"

"Yeah, uh, did you want to finish telling me the plan now, Sarge?" Simmons asked. He wasn't one to be sarcastic with his superior officer…but almost getting blown up by a tank tended to screw with your nerves.

"If we survive this, I'm gonna kill both of ya. Slowly," Sarge replied.

Grif knelt down casually beside Simmons. "Uh, hey, Simmons? By the way... The ramp is secure," he informed him smugly.

The tank fired again, and the base shook. Donut poked his head out from the door. "Hey, what're you guys doin' up here?!" he called.

"That chick in the black armour's back!" Grif yelled.

"What chick? The one that stuck the grenade to my head?" Donut asked.

"That's the one," Simmons called.

"The same chick whose fault it is that I'm stuck in this light red armour?"

Grif resisted the urge to shake his head. "Donut, I understand the need to safeguard your masculinity, but really, dude... It's a whole lot faster just to say pink," he said.

But Donut seemed to be smiling beneath his visor, and he took out a grenade, one of the kinds that Tex had stuck to his head. "Ohho..! Oh, I been waiting for this," he said with relish in his voice. He ran up to the edge of the base and yelled, "Hey, bitch! Remember me!? I saved something for ya!"

Donut thumbed the activation switch and the grenade erupted in blue energy. He threw the grenade, and it curved upwards in a mighty arc. Such a throw had never been seen in the history of the Red and the Blue armies, and this throw was truly one of a kind. Even the Freelancers, masters of combat and physical fitness, would have been impressed by Donut's capabilities. Donut's grenade sailed perfectly through the air, capturing the attention of Red and Blue alike, and Tucker admitted, "Man, that girl's got a really good arm."

Then the grenade landed – straight on Tex's chest inside the tank.

"Aw, CRAP!" Tex cried as she looked down and saw her armour protruding like a cosplayer's.

"Hell yeah!" Donut yelled in an echoing voice. "Three points, you dirty whore!"

Then the grenade exploded, and the impact blasted Shelia's hatch off and damaged the consoles critically beyond repair, save that of a genius. Tex's body was crushed backwards in the seat, and while the armour was undamaged, the sheer trauma was too much to handle. She was barely able to drag herself out of the cockpit, and gravity did the rest.

"¡Dios mío, no!" Church screamed. Still occupying Lopez's body, he sprinted down the ramp and into the canyon towards Shelia and Tex, screaming her name. "¡Tejas, Tejas!"

"Uh, where's Lopez going?" Grif asked in surprise. He was still recovering from the shock of Donut saving their asses.

"To fight the enemy head on in hand-to-hand combat," Sarge explained. "Mano e mano. What a brave little compadre," he said proudly. "Lopez, I never understood a word you said. But I do know one thing: You hated Grif, and that's the most important thing there is. Adios, amigo... Adios."

"Shouldn't we help him?" Simmons asked.

Sarge shook his head. "Naw... That would just ruin the moment," he said wistfully.

Church stood over Tex's battered body. He would have done his best not to weep and failed had he had proper tear ducts, so all he could do was hold his feelings in.

"Church, is that you?" Tex choked. "It-It's gone, Church. The A.I., it's gone. Thank you."

With that, Tex released a final gasp of, "Heeeee, bleah..." and she expired.

"Crap," Tucker moaned as he watched Church standing over the body of his dead girlfriend. "Church is gonna be pissed, and now he's got a body to kick our ass." He turned to Caboose, who was standing and looking at the cliff in apparent shame. "Come on, Caboose, let's get back to base," he suggested.

"I told you, my name isn't Caboose...," Caboose said angrily as he turned away from the cliff, and then the most terrifying thing that had happened in the canyon was surpassed by unfathomable levels as Caboose declared in a deep voice, "My name... is... _O'Malley_...!"

 **Well that's all for now, folks. It's been a lot of fun writing this, and I hope that you've enjoyed it. Once I've finished a lot more of my work on Yu-Gi-Oh! Dissidia then I'll start writing the chapters for the Second Season, and upload them similarly. Thank you to the reviewers and thank you to Rooster Teeth for making such an incredible piece of work; thank you to the Red vs. Blue wiki for composing the transcripts which had I not had would have caused this to have taken far longer.**

 **Until next time.**

 **Sanokal**


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